


heartstrings

by noahczerns



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Idk how to tag things, M/M, musician au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 16:18:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11188806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahczerns/pseuds/noahczerns
Summary: At his new job, Jean meets an intriguing busker called Marco.





	1. paths crossed

**Author's Note:**

> i love these boys!!!!! 
> 
> i will hopefully be updating this at least once a week (i've already written the next few chapters so they'll definitely be up relatively soon but we'll see if i can carry on at this pace lmao) 
> 
> i tried my best with characterisation but i'm still getting used to writing these two so hopefully it'll get better as it goes along ? (lemme know how it is/if i should change anything) 
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://sugakoush.tumblr.com) !!!

With an almost spilling coffee in one hand and a still-warm bagel in the other, Jean walked down the street at a steady pace, carefully balancing the two. He was going to be late if he didn’t speed up, but he didn’t quite fancy spilling hot liquid all over his hands either. He took a sip of the coffee to bring it down below the rim of the cup, only to recoil at the intense heat on his tongue. Pulling the cup away, he accepted his fate: he was going to be late to his first day at his new job. He knew he should have woken up earlier, showered the night before, or just skipped getting the damn coffee. There was no point scolding himself now, his drink had done that for him, all he had to do was focus on getting to the building without spilling anything down his freshly cleaned shirt.

Jean took large strides to make up for his slow pace and skilfully dodged the onslaught of the countless other people off to work that morning. The sun was spilling out over the city, and it was a pleasant enough day. He was nearing the building now, and he scanned each building to make sure he didn’t miss it. That was the problem with offices in cities, they all looked exactly the same. He squinted at one a few feet ahead; that was the one. He remembered the flowerbed planted directly in front of the entrance. This time, sat next to the flowerbed, was a guy with a guitar looking at though he was still half asleep. Jean checked his watch (luckily, he was holding the bagel in that hand). With three minutes to spare, he didn’t have time to linger and made his way into the building.

At his induction, he had been told that he would be working on the 2nd floor, so he walked to the elevator at a brisk pace. Once inside and having pressed the button for the 2nd floor, he quickly scoffed his bagel, grateful to fill the hole in his belly that had been gnawing at him ever since he opened his eyes that morning. The doors of the elevator opened, and Jean was greeted with the exact place he had dreamed of working.

He greeted his new co-workers with a hopefully pleasant but probably awkward smile and got to work on his first assignment of the day, sent to him via email. He had to research about a beloved dog in the neighbourhood that had gone missing the previous week and write an article about it. It wasn’t the most thrilling article subject out there, but the fact that he was able to write for this newspaper at all was enough to keep his spirits up. He took a gulp of his coffee, finally the perfect temperature to drink, and got to work.

Finding information about a missing dog was harder than Jean had expected. By his lunch break, he had only begun writing the introduction of his article. He was going to have to pick up the pace if he wanted to finish it by the end of the day. Sunlight was pouring in through the wall-length windows, so he decided it would be nice to get some fresh air whilst he could. Jean saved the document, logged off the computer, and strolled back outside the building, ideas for the article still floating around in his mind.

Outside, the sun was in full force, much warmer than it had been hours ago. Jean breathed in, taking in both the air pollution and the scent of the flowers nearby. The man he had seen earlier was still sat by the flowerbed, only now he was playing the guitar, rather than seemingly using it as a pillow.

He was rather good, as the guitar case filled with change and the odd note would suggest. If the man’s dark hair was any longer, it would have fallen over his eyes, but instead, his freckle-coated cheeks were on full display. His hands moved up and down the instrument with elegance, and he pulled at the strings with the utmost care. The tune he was creating was soft and calm, almost out of place in the centre of a city like this one.

Jean stood there for a few minutes, just taking in the music.

After a while, Jean felt around in his pockets and found a handful of loose change, then walked over and placed them in the man’s guitar case. He was sorry to disrupt the song with the harsh clatter of coins falling on each other.

The man looked up and smiled, “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re really good,” Jean replied, putting his hands in his pockets, “Can you sing as well?”

The man laughed, “No, not really.”

Jean was amazed at how he could hold a conversation and play so beautifully at the same time. He could barely string together a sentence when that was the only thing he needed to do. “I’d like to hear you sing.”

“Come back tomorrow and maybe I’ll have a song for you.” The man’s eyes shimmered in the afternoon light as he continued to smile.

Jean felt his cheeks warm and did his best to smile back. “I have to go back to work.”

“Thank you once again,” the man said, his voice gentle. Jean was sad to turn around, but the music that followed him back into the building warmed his heart more than the coffee had done.

He returned to his desk, the image of the enchanting man with the guitar filling his mind. He opened his unfinished word document again and thought he would much rather be writing an article about the mysterious musician outside of the building than a dog that would most likely be found in the next few days. He forced himself to focus on the article, staring at the stagnant word count as the memory of the guitar twangs echoed in his ears. Soon, his fingers picked up the pace and they were almost as nimble as the guitar player’s. 

In true Jean style, he finished writing the article with 5 minutes left of the work day. He emailed the finished draft to the editor and exited the building. The sunlight was fading, and the man he had hoped to see once more beside the flowerbed before he went home was no longer there. His guitar case was all packed up, and there was no sign of him left. All he could do was cling onto the maybe the man had given him.

When he got back to his apartment, he immediately sat down on the sofa and his eyelids began to get heavy. His first day at his dream job had turned out nothing like he had expected it to be, and he was perfectly okay with that.

 

-

 

The bus was dense with muggy heat and the tiredness radiating off its passengers after the long day. Marco clung onto his guitar case and the pole next to him, desperate not to make a fool of himself if the bus decided to make a sudden break. He looked out of the window slick with grime; he recognised the street, he would be home soon. He couldn’t wait to be home. He loved playing music and watching people go by as he did, but there was nothing quite like coming home.

His home wasn’t much, Marco could admit that, it was all he could afford but he did what he could with what he had. If he was honest, it was really his sister, Etta, that made it a home rather than the furniture he saved up for months to be able to afford. The purple walls in the living room and the green bathtub weren’t exactly what he would have chosen if he had free reign on the décor, but his sister’s laughs and sly jabs made it feel warm and comforting instead of a strangely coloured enclosure. He hated not being there when she came home from school, but if they were going to have enough for the rent and a decent meal, he needed the extra few hours.

Marco emerged from his thoughts as the bus rounded the corner and reached his stop. He released his firm grip on the pole and stepped off the bus, paying his thanks to the driver on the way. Slinging his guitar case onto his back, he walked the last few steps to the building of his little apartment.

When he opened the door, he was met with the smell of something cooking. The smell was odd, he couldn’t quite place his finger on it. “Etta?”

“I’m in the kitchen!” His sister called. Something clanged on the floor and Marco dreaded to think what it was. He took his guitar case off his back, set it by the sofa, and cautiously went into the kitchen.

Etta’s hair was matted with flour and she smiled up at him as she sliced some kind of vegetable on the chopping board. Behind her, a pot filled with a red liquid was bubbling and threatening to overthrow.

“What exactly are you making?” Marco asked as he rushed to turn the heat down on the hob.

Etta wiped the sweat from her brow, “Bolognese.”

“I would’ve made us something when I got back, you know,” said Marco, now looking for a packet of spaghetti.

“Yeah, but I wanted to make you something for a change.”

Marco smiled and pinched her cheek. “You’re a sweet kid.”

Etta rolled her eyes and Marco laughed. He found the spaghetti, fished out a pan, then filled it with water and left it to boil. “How was school?”

“It was alright.” Etta shrugged, concentrating on not cutting off her thumb as she chopped the onions. “How was your day?”

Marco let the subject drop, he knew when not to pry. “It was pretty good actually. One guy asked me if I do singing. I said I might do a bit tomorrow.” Marco felt his cheeks warm a little as he thought about the man from earlier; he decided to pin it on the heat from the hob.

Etta raised her eyebrows. “What song you gonna sing?”

“I haven’t thought about that yet.” Marco scratched his nose, he would have to think of something quick if he wanted to have enough time to practice it and actually do it tomorrow.

“I can help you pick one!”

“Don’t you have homework to do, hmm?” Marco said, in his mock stern voice. He didn’t like to chastise her too much, but she needed the push sometimes.

Etta groaned, “I can do it tomorrow.”

“When is it due?”

“…Tomorrow.”

Marco rolled his eyes, “You can help me after you finish your homework.”

“Fine,” replied Etta, “tell me more about this guy that wants you to sing.”

“We only spoke for a couple of minutes.”

“Was he cute?” Etta looked up from her board of vegetables, “You’re blushing!”

“I am not! It’s hot in here, that’s all.” Marco said, not meeting her eyes. He wringed his hands; there wasn’t much else to do with the spaghetti and the sauce both cooking.

“Mmmkay. What did he look like? Brown hair? Tall?” She was getting closer to Marco’s face with every word.

Marco ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah he had brown hair. He had like an undercut thing. The top was lighter than the underneath.”

“Continue.”

“I couldn’t really tell how tall he was, I was sitting down. He seemed kinda awkward, to be honest.”

Now that he was thinking about him again, Marco wished he had gotten a better look at the guy. At the time, his presence was almost blinding and the only way he could keep his cool was to look at his guitar strings instead. That didn’t really help, considering his voice was just as nice to listen to as his face was to look at.

“Did you get his name?”

Marco frowned. “No.”

“Rookie mistake,” Etta said simply, “You’ll have to make sure you get it tomorrow.”

“Easier said than done,” Marco replied.

Etta was finally done with the vegetables, and with all fingers remaining intact, she put them into the bolognese sauce. Soon, it was done and ready to eat.

“Your cooking is getting better,” said Marco as they were sat at the table eating up their hard work.

“Thanks to you.” Etta smiled.

After they finished eating and washed up, Marco got to work on finding the song he needed.

 

-

 

Jean woke to the sound of his alarm bursting through into his dreams. Without opening his eyes, he grabbed his phone and turned off the alarm. The remnants of his dream were slipping away, until all he could remember was the vague feeling of looking up to a freckled face. He sighed and sat up, taking care to make sure he was still wrapped up inside his duvet. Morning light slid in from the bottom of the curtains, leaving a stroke of yellow in the middle of the room. He swallowed and regretted it immediately.

Eventually, he pulled himself out from under the comforting warmth of the duvet and dressed. He awoke slightly earlier than yesterday morning; he didn’t want to be sporting another awkward jog on his way to work. Jean filled his flask with coffee, picked up whatever kind of pastry he had left in his bread bin, grabbed his bag and set off.

The weather was getting warmer, he could feel it on his underarms. With time to spare before he was due in to work, he walked at a steady pace and took in his surroundings. Jean had never ventured into this part of the city before he got a job here. He kept to his usual parks and restaurants that he had gone to for years and he was fine with that. His friends Sasha and Connie had tried in vain get him to see new places, but he always ended up going back to the things he was familiar with. On his way, he spotted a record store that looked rather intriguing; the window was filled with classic vinyls from the likes of The Smiths and Elvis Presley, and scattered across the glass were what looked like authentic music posters from eras gone by. He decided he would take a look in there at the weekend when he had more than ten minutes to browse. The only reason he was going was because he needed something to play on his record player that was gathering dust, certainly not because it seemed like the exact place where a street musician would spend their time.

Jean looked at the time on his phone. He had better get a move on or his sacrifice of 30 minutes sleep would be a waste. Walking faster, he reached the office building with plenty of time to gather his thoughts before starting the work day. Before entering the building, he threw a glance at the flowerbed. There was no one there. He swallowed down his disappointment and went into the building with a frown tugging at his lips. He had arrived earlier than yesterday, so the guy must not get here until later. That was definitely why he wasn’t there. Not because he had bailed on something kind of almost like a promise to a complete stranger. Jean got the feeling that he wasn’t the type of guy to leave someone hanging. How he had gotten that from someone he had spoken to for barely two minutes, he wasn’t quite sure.

Taking the same route as the previous day, Jean got to his desk without being out of breath this time. He placed his flask of coffee and unidentified pastry on his desk and put his bag underneath. He logged onto his computer and opened his emails with the hopes of something more exciting to write about than a local celebrity dog that he could barely remember the name of. Instead, he was met with his article returned to him with edits and alterations. He had expected this, but it never stung any less to see someone tear apart your work. Repressing a groan, he read through the comments and made notes of how to improve his next article. At the end of the mass of comments was a little message that said:

_A great first article! Well done._

Jean’s eyes lit up and his heart swelled, almost enough to overflow out of his ribcage. He sent a quick thank you email to the editor and opened the email that contained his next assignment.

After about an hour and a half of research and phone calling about a local shop closing down, Jean’s mind began to drift and a dark-hair-framed face slowly became the forefront of his thoughts. The smile that had momentarily made him forget about the stress of a new job. The gentle fingers that caressed guitar strings with more care than most would handle even a baby bird.

“Jean?”

Jean emerged from his daydream with a start. He looked up to find one of his new co-workers staring down at him, concern showing on their face. “Yes?”

“Are you alright? You seem a little distracted. I know it’s hard when you first start.”

Jean smiled, more out of politeness than sincerity. He wasn’t used to people he didn’t know approaching him like this. “I’m fine, thanks. Might just need a little break in a bit.”

His colleague smiled back at him. “Alright. I’m Armin by the way. You can come talk to me anytime if you need any help.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Armin gave Jean one last smile and went back to their desk. Jean was constantly being surprised by the kindness of strangers recently.

He looked at the clock on the bottom right of his computer screen; there were still a few hours left until he could go on his lunch break. He sighed and turned his gaze to the window. He was too far away to get a look at the street down below, all he could see was the cloudless sky and the buildings surrounding this one. He wondered if the guitar guy was down by the flowerbed yet. He wondered what song he would sing – _i_ _f_  he would sing. What music taste did he have? Old music or new? Both?

Jean shook himself. He wouldn’t get an article finished like this. He got up to get a glass of water, then returned to his desk, doing his best to keep the freckled face man out of his mind.

 

-

 

Marco’s hopes to see the man who had requested a song again that morning slowly disintegrated into nothing more than a pile of grains as 9:00 am came and went with no sign of him. His last string of hope was wrapped around the chance that he had gone to work early that morning, and that he would return around lunch time like he had yesterday.

A little solemnly, he picked up his guitar again and began to play. He wanted to practice the song he had chosen, but what if he couldn’t do it as well at the time? He’d practiced briefly the night before with Etta, sure, but was that enough? What if his voice came out raspy from the lack of use this morning? Conflicted, he bit his lip and let himself get lost in the tune he was playing at that moment. He had a while yet before the time came, if it came at all.

He heard the familiar rattle of coins dropping into his guitar case, and he lifted his head to thank the stranger, but they had already gone. He didn’t usually go to the same place two days in a row, and he was paying the price by the decrease in change coming his way. He hoped the man was worth the exception.

When pulling at his guitar strings, he would normally find his mind drifting along with the melody and he wouldn’t take much notice of the world going on around him. Today, however, his eyes seemed to be glued to the door of the office building in front of him.

The morning rush was over, and it was only occasional that someone would pass through, but every time they did he felt his heart leap and then immediately fall when he didn’t recognise the face. It was silly, he knew logically, but he could not wait to see the face of that stranger again. He was like something Marco had never seen before. On the outside, his put-together outfit and fixed expression made him appear with an almost asshole-ish nature, yet there was something else beneath the surface that Marco desperately wanted to unveil. It wasn’t the only thing he’d like to unveil, if he really thought about it, but he wouldn’t let his imagination stray that far. Not yet anyway.

He checked his watch. It was almost 10:00 am. He had at least another two hours to before the chance would arise again. He sighed and set his fingers back to work on the strings they knew so well. To reassure himself, he ran over the lyrics of the chosen song in his head. It felt odd to think of them whilst playing a different song altogether, but soon his fingers began to work on autopilot and he could focus on the words themselves.

 

-

 

Marco got back into the swing of his performance after a while, and even though he was performing to the same people as yesterday, they were being just as generous.

Lunch time was nearing, he could tell by the way his stomach grabbed for his attention. He had packed a lunch as he always did, but a slight wave of nausea was overriding his hunger pangs. He took a swig of water from his water bottle. He had no idea when the guy would arrive, but it had to be any minute now if he was to make an appearance.

Marco swept his hair from his forehead and began another song, one he had known for years, the only way he knew to calm himself, if only by a marginal amount. He felt the strings beneath his fingers and listened to the familiarity of the chords and let the sound ease the beating of his heart. Etta would tease him to hell if she knew how he was feeling right now. Marco closed his eyes and closed out the office doors with them.


	2. serenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco gives Jean the song he was promised, amongst other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so bad at summaries im sorry???  
> anyway here's the next chapter !! 
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://sugakoush.tumblr.com)

“Um, hi. Sorry to disturb you…”

Marco’s eyes burst open. In front of him, was the man responsible for his turbulent stomach and now warming cheeks. Scraping together the little dignity he had left, he smiled up at him. “Hey.”

The man smiled back, and reached into his pocket, emerging with a handful of change and what looked like a couple of notes. He made to put it into the guitar case, but Marco stopped him. “You don’t have to do that, you gave me enough yesterday. The song’s on me today.”

“Really, you can have it. It’s not a big deal,” the man said, looking rather distressed.

“No, no. It’s fine, you can buy me a coffee or something.” The words came out of Marco’s mouth before he had even thought about them. The heat in his cheeks deepened, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the man’s face. Remembering Etta’s words from the night before, he said: “So, do I get to know the name of the guy I’m about to serenade?”

Marco spotted a hint of pink rising in the man’s cheeks. He wasn’t sure what to think about that. “Yeah, sorry. I’m Jean.” Jean held out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Jean. I’m Marco.” Marco took Jean’s hand and shook it. His shake was firm but not rough; Marco hoped his palms weren’t as sweaty as he was sure they were. They continued to smile at each other, their hands still connected. “Um, I kind of need my hand back to play.”

Jean let go of his hand almost immediately and laughed nervously, running his now free hand through his hair. “Sorry about that.” 

“It’s cool. Wanna sit down?” Marco patted the free space next to him. “Don’t want to strain my neck.”

“Of course not.” Jean smiled again and sat down. Marco wondered if he was worried about the state of the floor.

“Are you sitting comfortably?” said Marco with an eyebrow raised, his tone was as joking as he could muster but his heart beat more furiously than he was willing to admit.

“Comfortable as I can get.”

“Then here we go.”

People were emerging from the buildings, lured by the momentary freedom of a lunch break, and Marco wished it were less busy, hoped for the first time that he _didn’t_  draw a crowd. Taking in a gulp of air, he adjusted the guitar in his hands and began to move his fingers across the strings the same way he had practiced. He didn’t have long until the singing part came up and his throat was starting to feel dry. Not wanting to stop his rhythm to take a drink, he pushed through.

“I’ll keep you safe…” his voice came out smoother than he had expected it to, and he was a little shocked. Doing his best to ignore all other thoughts, especially of Jean looking at him intently and sitting barely millimetres away, he focused on remembering the lyrics. The song was spilling out of his mouth, easier than it had done any of the times he had practiced. On a whim, he looked up from where his fingers were plucking at the strings and met Jean’s eyes. He couldn’t tell what was happening behind the hazel tint, but the smile tugging at his lips suggesting he was doing okay. “You are an artist, and your heart is your masterpiece, and I’ll keep it safe…”

After Marco had played the last note, Jean said with awe, “That was really good. You telling me you lied to me yesterday when you said you can’t sing?”

“It’s a matter of opinion, _I_  don’t think I can sing.”

“Well, your opinion is wrong.”

They both burst out laughing.

Marco had to put his guitar to the side to clutch his stomach.

“What song was it, by the way? I haven’t heard it before,” Jean asked after composing himself.

Marco wiped his eyes. “I’ll keep you safe by Sleeping at Last. All of their music is great.”

“I’ll check them out.”

“I can give you some more recommendations if you’d like,” Marco offered, already taking out his phone.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

Marco got a little carried away with the list he read out, suggesting a few more than he had planned. Truthfully, he hadn’t planned at all. He could tell his list was getting excessive by the widening of Jean’s eyes every time he said another artist’s name after he seemed to have finished.

Jean looked at his phone. “Shit, I have to go back to work.”

“Better get a move on then. I won’t be here tomorrow or Friday by the way, I have my _actual_ job then.” Marco smiled.

“That’s cool.” He stood up slowly, not taking his eyes off Marco. “When can I get you that coffee?”

“How about next Saturday? 11 at the Expresso?”

“Yeah, I think I know where that is.” Jean grinned, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“I like all of the toppings. It won’t be cheap.” Marco teased; the smile still plastered on Jean’s face was doing something to his chest.

“It still won’t be worth the same as your singing.”

Marco didn’t think he cheeks could get any warmer.

-

Jean went back to the office with the sound of Marco’s smooth voice still ringing in his ears, it was unlike having a song stuck in your head since he enjoyed being able to rehear the song even if his memory wasn’t doing it any justice. Though he loved the process of writing and constructing an article and everything this job had offered him so far, he couldn’t help but wish his lunch break was longer. In his old job, it would drag on. He’d finish eating his sandwich within 5 minutes and then feel like he was wasting the remaining 40 minutes by scrolling through his phone and sending a few back and forth texts to Connie and Sasha. The past two days, however, the entire thing had slipped through his fingers without him even realising.

As he sat by down at his desk he realised he would have to wait at least another week before he could see Marco again. He leant his face in his hands and felt the furious heat from his still red cheeks warm his fingers. Still slightly in disbelief that his request to meet for coffee was accepted, a small smile crept onto his face. Was it a date? He wasn’t sure. Neither of them had clarified it. It felt like it was going to be a date. There wasn’t anything hetero about Marco serenading him, as he himself put it, though, he was sure about that.

For the rest of the work day, Jean drifted in and out of his daydreams, switching between staring at his computer screen and out of the wall-sized window at the other side of the office. After thinking about the distance between the freckles on Marco’s face for a rather worrying amount of time, he decided he needed a second opinion about Saturday’s coffee. He had to ask both Sasha and Connie because he knew if one found out they had been kept out of the loop, they wouldn’t be very happy. So, when he should have been writing up what some local customers have been saying about the dissolving of a local company, he texted Sasha and Connie instead:

**JEAN:** _So I’m kind of meeting up with a guy for coffee next Saturday. I’m not sure if it’s a date or not, what do u guys think???_

Before Jean even had the chance to lock his phone and put it down, it vibrated.

 **SASHA:** _coffee is a classic date! of course it is! bring me back some cake for when u tell us all the deets after pls x_

Jean had gotten into the habit of bringing something food related for Sasha whenever he saw her anyway, he wasn’t so sure why she felt like she still had to ask. He pondered on her words for a moment, the warmth in his cheeks only increasing every time he thought the word _date_.

His phone vibrated again:

CONNIE: _sounds like a date to me. do we know the guy??_

 **CONNIE:** _also_ _i want in on that cake_

Jean hid behind his eyes even though no one was looking. They _both_ think it’s a date, what else could it be?

 **JEAN:** _I only met him yesterday, he busks outside my work. Maybe I should just ask him when I see him???? Not sure tho, might scare him off_

Jean put his phone down and rubbed his eyes, then quickly wrote out a few more sentences for his article. He could multitask, it wasn’t too hard. He was almost done anyway, it wouldn’t take much longer to finish it off. Another message came through:

 **CONNIE:** _jean if he already saw ur face and spoke to u and is still willing to get coffee_ _i think ur good_

Jean rolled his eyes.

 **JEAN:** _Where’s the horse emoji? Ur insult is lacking depth buddy_

Feeling rather smug with his comeback, Jean looked back at his word document and added another sentence. He was scraping the barrel now; he had to write at least another 500 words and he was already quoting people that he, and the rest of the city, had never heard of. His phone vibrated yet again.

 **CONNIE:** _im concentrating on working unlike some people, it was there in spirit_

**JEAN:** _Alright I get the hint I’ll text you later_

To make sure he truly meant it, he turned off his phone and put it in his bag beneath the desk. Even if this particular article wasn’t going to be the pinnacle of inspiring journalism, he still wanted to do his best and feel proud to see his name printed next to it in the newspaper. Next week, he would finally be able to see it, and he could not wait. First though, he had cut down on his daydreaming about cute boys who played guitar.

That turned out to be harder than he originally thought.

At the end of the day when he had finally finished his article to a pretty decent standard and emailed it off, he left the office with almost a spring in his step. It wasn’t quite fully there, but there was the hint of one. On his way out, he hoped to see Marco by the flowerbed once again, but he had already left, the same as yesterday. At first, he was disappointed, then he focused on the fact that he would be seeing him again next Saturday, and his heart lifted. He took out his phone from his pocket as he walked; he had a bunch of messages from Connie and Sasha.

 **CONNIE:** _take away at my place tonight??_

 **SASHA:** _YEEES FOR SURE_

 **SASHA** : _im starving right now_

 **CONNIE:** _jean??? U up for it???_

 **SASHA:** _probably too busy dreaming about his new bf_

 **CONNIE:** _wow jean didnt think u were the type who are u dude_

Jean almost choked on his own breath.

 **JEAN:** _I’ll come even tho u guys suck_

 **CONNIE:** _u didnt deny it tho_

 **SASHA:** _#exposed_

 **JEAN:** _What time shall I come over?_

 **CONNIE:** _is 7 cool?_

 **JEAN:** _Yeah_

 **SASHA:** _Yep_

It was almost half past six by the time Jean got back to his apartment. His hair was slightly damp from the sudden drizzle, and he was tired. He almost felt like taking a nap on his sofa right then and there, but his stomach had other ideas. Not to mention, Sasha and Connie would not be impressed if he bailed on them. He dropped his bag in its usual place, grabbed a coat with a hood and left again before he could even think about giving in to the temptation to sleep. He would get to Connie’s earlier than 7, but he knew he wouldn’t mind. His hair now safely protected by the hood of his coat, he stepped out into the rain once more and made his way to Connie’s.

His feet took him there automatically, and he soon found himself standing at Connie’s front door. He rang the doorbell just because Connie hated the sound and still hadn’t figured out how to change it even after two years of living there. Seconds later, the door opened and Connie appeared, an annoyed look on his face. The doorbell had worked its usual magic.

“Hey,” Jean said Connie stepped aside to let him come inside. “Is Sasha here yet?”

“I’m here!” Sasha’s voice carried from the living room.

“‘Course she is, you know she wouldn’t be able to wait.”

“I can literally hear you.”

Jean laughed, it was nice to be around his friends again rather than just looking at their names on a screen. “What food are we getting?”

“I was thinking pizza, I fancy garlic bread,” replied Connie as he and Jean walked into the living room to join Sasha. She was laying length ways on the sofa with biscuit crumbs around her mouth.

Jean nodded and took off his now drenched coat, “Pizza’s good.”

Sasha sat up and raised her eyebrows at Jean, “So, who is this guy? He got a name?”

Jean knew the interrogation would come, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon. He sat down in the newly cleared space next to Sasha and felt the full force of her stare. “His name’s Marco.”

“Hmm. Marco,” said Sasha, as if she was trying out the name in her mouth, “What’s he look like?”

“Dark hair. Quite a few freckles.”

“Oooh, freckles are super cute!” Sasha almost squealed.

Jean made a quiet sound in agreement.

“Been thinking about those freckles all day, huh, Jean?” Connie teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

Jean rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Shut up.”

Connie and Sasha shared a look. Sasha was desperate to know more, “How d’you meet him?”

Jean recalled the events from the day before and that afternoon, interrupted by a chorus of “aw” and “that’s so cute!” from Sasha at every possible interval. Connie looked up from the takeaway menu he was scanning a few times to give various quizzical looks.

Sasha’s stomach rumbled. “I’m sorry, Jean, I really am interested in your newly developing love life, but I am also dying to get some pizza in me.”

Connie and Jean laughed, and Connie took the initiative to finally order some food.

-

Jean’s next two days at work were much the same as the ones before, but with considerably less Marco. He knew he wouldn’t be there for the rest of the week, and somehow, even after only spending a couple of lunchtimes with him, his breaks now felt empty without the sound of his voice and his guitar. That’s not to say that Jean wasn’t enjoying his new profession as a journalist, writing his first few proper articles had been everything he had dreamed of, but it would have been nice to spend his all of his breaks with the freckle-faced guy as well.

Jean regretted not asking Marco for his number. If he was honest with himself, he had no idea how he would have asked for it anyway. He could have opted for his usual all-confidence-but-mainly-asshole approach, yet for some reason, he held back; he didn’t want Marco to see him in that way. It was Saturday afternoon, he was stuck in his apartment, and he had no plans for the day. He wished his coffee shop probably-maybe-possibly-date was today. He drummed his fingers onto the breakfast counter. Sasha and Connie were out of town this weekend, so he couldn’t ask to hang out with them. He was bored. And Jean hating being bored. He had already flicked through all of the television channels, browsed through his phone, and he didn’t particularly feel like binge-watching a TV show right now.

His gaze drifted to the window, and his thoughts followed. What was that store he thought about visiting the other day? The record store? Jean mulled over the idea in his head. There wasn’t any harm, it wasn’t like he had anything else to do. He pushed himself off the counter, put on his shoes and a jacket, and left his apartment before he could convince himself to change his mind.

Outside, the air was as thick as the clouds hovering in the sky. Muggy heat was Jean’s least favourite kind of weather; he ignored the heavy feeling on his skin and started down the street that he had slowly become familiar with this past week. He passed the Saturday crowds of busy shoppers and mothers with screaming children until he spotted the record store in the distance. Narrowly avoiding tripping over a small dog that seemed to have appeared from nowhere, Jean arrived at the store and went inside.

The store was filled with a sort of musty smell that took over almost all stores with old things. Walls on all sides were covered with vinyl records - he assumed they were for decoration, not for sale - and more posters. In the centre of the store, was a huge table that took up nearly the entire floor space, leaving only room for browsing around it and a till on the left-hand side near the window. On top of the table were boxes after boxes of records, and the occasional box of CDs. Jean walked closer to the table and began to flick through the box closest to the edge.

Most of the records were encased in sleeves of perfect condition, but there was the occasional one that stood alone and unprotected. Jean didn’t recognise most of the artist’s names, but he knew some of the singles that were advertised on the sleeves. He moved from one to the next with a careful touch, until he reached the end of the box. Nothing in particular had caught his eye in that collection; he didn’t lose hope though, he had barely scratched the surface with the records in this store. Jean silently moved onto the box directly to the right of him, letting himself become engrossed in the world of music at his fingertips.

He was looking through the fourth box when he heard a familiar voice.

“You’re going to have to restrain me, I don’t want to spend everything I have in one go again.”

Jean looked up, almost certain his ears were merely playing tricks on him. Standing near the doorway, was Marco. He had a smile on his face which made his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. The wind must have picked up whilst Jean was inside the store, as a tuft of Marco’s dark hair was sticking out at the side. Jean found it unbearably adorable. He had to tear his eyes away from where his shoulder peeped out from beneath his polo shirt. Next to him was a girl about a head shorter than him. Unlike Marco’s, her face was scarce of freckles, but the colour of their eyes was the same shade.

Jean watched as the girl laughed at Marco’s remark and the two of them walked further into the store. Marco hadn’t spotted him. He wasn’t sure if he should say hi, they weren’t exactly friends yet, and he didn’t trust his voice either. He looked back down at the box of records; his right hand was firmly gripping a sleeve, his knuckles pearly white. Jean started blankly at the words on the records as he flipped passed them. Heat was rising in his cheeks at the same pace as his increasing heart rate. The words muddled and blended together in front of his eyes.

“Jean?”

Jean looked up immediately, startled. Marco was standing opposite him across the table. He hadn’t even heard him move. Marco was giving him a puzzling look, his head tilted to the side, Jean realised that moments had passed, and he was yet to reply.

“Fancy seeing you here.” His voice cracked. Jean dug his fingernails into his palms.

Marco shot him a smile. “I hope you aren’t expecting another song.” 

“I’ll let you off, just for today,” Jean replied, a smile emerging on his face despite his blinding nerves.

Marco let out a laugh, it was a pleasant sound, it had an almost calming effect and it set Jean’s insides alight. “So nice of you.”

“I am known for my niceties,” said Jean, sarcasm trickling into his tone.

“Oh, I can tell.”

Silence fell for a second or two, then Marco asked, “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Not really. I have a record player that I don’t use much and I saw this store the other day, thought I’d take a look.”

Marco listened, intrigued, “That’s cool. I don’t exactly have a record player yet, just stocking up for when I do eventually. Etta doesn’t think it’s a very practical plan.”

“Etta?”

“My sister, over there.” He gestured to the girl he had walked into the store with earlier. Jean had guessed right.

“You could always borrow my record player.” Jean offered, not exactly sure what he would do if Marco accepted.

“There you go with your niceties again,” Marco teased, “Thank you for the offer, though. Maybe I’ll take you up on it sometime.”

Jean brushed his hair behind his ear, even though it was barely long enough to reach. “Damn, I’m just too nice for my own good.”

“Marcoooo,” Etta called as she walked towards his and tugged at his arm, “I found one I like.” She held sleeved record in her hand, from what Jean could see, it was black and white striped.

“What is it?” Marco asked, examining it with concentration.

“No idea, the name’s rubbed off. It’s a surprise,” said Etta nonchalantly. She turned to look at Jean. “You know my brother?”

Jean swallowed heavily, her stare felt enough to cut him in half. “We’ve met a few times.”

Seeming satisfied with that answer, she turned her attention back to Marco. “Did you find anything?”

“Not yet, I’m still looking.”

Etta raised her eyebrows. “You’ve normally got your hands full by now.”

“Guess I’m slacking today,” said Marco, putting his hand behind his head and laughing.

Jean found himself smiling at their interactions, it was so natural and comfortable, it reminded him of how he felt when he was with Connie and Sasha. He didn’t want to interrupt their conversation, so he took a step to the right, and began rifling through the next box. At the third record, he stopped. It was The Smiths’ self-titled album, something he had listened to countless times, but his hands picked it up anyway.

“What have you got there?” Marco asked. Jean turned the vinyl so that Marco could see the front. Marco smiled. “Great choice.”


	3. first date (?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco and Jean meet up for a coffee, but neither of them is really sure if it's a date or just two bros hanging out five feet apart because they're not gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry for memeing out in the summary except not really  
> (spoiler: they are gay)
> 
> talk to me on [tumblr!!!](http://sugakoush.tumblr.com)

The next weekend rolled around, but not as quickly as Marco would have liked. Even though he loved every second his work, it seemed to drag more than usual and he was counting down the days until he finished for the week. When he finally returned home on Friday evening, he was glad to be reunited with his bed. He’d wanted to sleep early, Etta was busy with her friends anyway, but his mind wasn’t having any of it. After a hot shower and getting into his duvet, he let himself relax and closed his eyes. He turned to his side, his coffee with Jean tomorrow morning looming. More than anything at the moment he wanted to see Jean again and unpick whatever it was he was hiding beneath his demeanour. He knew something was there, and that he had barely made a dent in the surface with him. Thinking about Jean’s intriguing face and just as intriguing mysteries, he drifted into sleep. 

-

Waking up to an alarm on a Saturday was not Marco’s idea of the perfect start, it was the complete opposite. Yet he knew if he relied on his own internal body clock, he would end up waking at half 10 filled with panic and only 30 minutes to get ready and actually get to the coffee shop. Considerably worse than waking up with heavy eyelids and a physical longing for his bed.

What if Jean didn’t show? He didn’t have his number, so he couldn’t check if they were still on for today… He heard Etta’s voice in his head echo: Rookie mistake. He pushed this thought to the back of his mind as he dressed. Having spent the past two days going through outfit combinations in his head and getting the Etta seal of approval, he had already decided on what he was going to wear. It was a navy blue and black button up shirt with his usual pair of black skinny jeans. Admittedly, he had wanted to rip the knees for a while now, but he had come to the conclusion that he wasn’t quite cool enough for that. He looked into the mirror and messed with his hair a little, it was no use; it fell back into its familiar middle parting. He shrugged, he wore it like that every day anyway, no use giving a false impression. He checked his watch, it was almost 10. Plenty of time. He walked into the kitchen to find it empty; he guessed that Etta was still in bed. On the counter, however, was a note:

 

> _Marco_
> 
> _I’ll probably still be asleep when you leave so I just wanted to say have fun on your date (it is DEFINITELY a date) and if he doesn’t fall head over heels for you immediately then he is an idiot._
> 
> _Love Etta_
> 
> _xx_

Marco smiled and felt a rush of love for his little sister. He was quite certain it wouldn’t turn out exactly how Etta had it all planned in the letter, but he was grateful for her enthusiasm.

On the way out, Marco grabbed his bag and then made his way to the coffee shop that he and Jean had agreed on.

He arrived with five minutes to spare. There was a table with two sofas free right next to the window; he snagged them without a second’s hesitation. He sat down on the sofa and sank into the soft material. If he let himself, he probably could’ve sunk lower into it, although he didn’t want to start off the morning by being _that_ weirdo.

The coffee shop had just the right number of customers. Not too few, so that it felt the staff were watching your every move and just waiting for your next order, but it wasn’t heaving either, so he and Jean wouldn’t have to shout each other’s ears off just to hear each other talk. Marco’s stomach rumbled and the pastries in the cabinet a few feet away from him were calling his name, but he convinced himself that he would able to resist a few minutes more.

The bell above the door chimed, and Marco looked up to see the figure he had been waiting all week to see. The slight wind had ruffled his hair, giving him a more dishevelled look than Marco had seen on him before. It made him look more loose and relaxed; Marco was a fan, to say the least. Jean spotted Marco immediately and sat down on the sofa opposite him, his face shocked when the sofa nearly consumed his body.

Marco chuckled lightly, “Should’ve warned you, the sofas are known for eating people.”

“A warning would’ve been nice,” Jean replied after pulling himself out of the sofa’s grasp and regaining his composure.

“So, what're your first impressions of this place?” Marco asked. He’d been going to this place for years and was shocked when Jean had said he had never heard of it before.

Jean looked around, and then returned his gaze to Marco. “It seems cool. I like that it’s really bright in here. I’ll have to see how the coffee fares, though.”

“Speaking of coffee, let’s order. I’m starving,” Marco said, clutching his stomach.

“Reminds me of someone I know,” said Jean, a smile forming on his lips.

“I’d love to hear about them,” Marco answered as they stood to join the line at the counter. Thankfully, it was short so they wouldn’t have to wait too long. Marco stared at the array of food behind the glass and bit his lip. He had tried almost everything that they offered here, and it was still so hard for him to pick; it was all just so good.

Jean was ahead of him and ordered his coffee first, then turned to Marco, “What coffee would you like?”

Marco turned to Jean and said with a smile, “Vanilla latte with cream, please. Marshmallows too, actually. And sprinkles.”

“Anything else?” Jean asked with a raised brow.

“Oh, no. My song doesn’t cover the payment of these amazing croissants,” Marco replied, having finally made a decision on what he wanted to eat.

“I think it does,” said Jean as he relayed Marco’s order to the barista.

Marco was puzzled for a second. “I’ll pay you back for the croissant.”

“It’s fine.” Jean took his card from his wallet and paid, then looked back at Marco. “Let’s go sit back down.”

“Guess I’ll have to sing you another song,” Marco said jokingly, though he did feel bad that Jean had paid for everything.

“I can roll with that,” Jean said as they sat back down. “You weren’t kidding when you said you like all the toppings.”

Marco shrugged, “I guess I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

“A bit?” Jean scoffed.

Marco rolled his eyes, though his wide smile ruined the whole effect. “Okay, I have a medium sized sweet tooth.”

Jean raised his eyebrows at him.

“A slightly bigger than average sweet tooth.”

Jean continued to stare, but the twitching corners of his lips betrayed him as he fought back a smile.

Marco gave in, laughing. “Fine! I have a very big sweet tooth.”

Jean surrendered to his smile as well. “I’m glad you can finally admit that.”

The barista came over with their drinks and food, and Marco could not wait to dig into his croissant, amongst other things.

After swallowing a mouthful of perfectly crisp croissant, Marco asked: “So, what do you do in that big office building all day?”

Jean took a sip of his coffee, looking, Marco could only assume, impressed by the taste. “I’m a journalist. It’s still weird to say that, I only started this week.”

Marco nodded. “That’s cool, what do you write about?”

“Well, this week I wrote an article about some dog that I can’t even remember the name of now. Gotta start somewhere, I guess.”

“The one that went missing last week?” Marco paused for a second to think. “Buddy?”

Jean furrowed his eyebrows, “I think so, I’m surprised you know what I’m talking about.”

“My sister used to love that dog when she was younger. It must be old now.”

“Yeah, it probably is. Your sister seemed nice when we met, by the way. Can’t say the same for her taste in dogs.”

Marco laughed again. “Yeah, she’s a great kid. Though she would probably rip into you for saying that about Buddy. What about you, you got any siblings?”

“No, it’s just me.”

“Well, there’s enough Etta to go around.” Marco smiled and Jean returned the gesture.

“I have my friends Connie and Sasha, though, they’re kind of like my brother and sister.”

“I’d like to meet them,” Marco said. Immediately after the words came out of his mouth, he worried that he had come off too strong.

“I think they’d like to meet you too,” Jean replied calmly. His eyes were bright and alive, and it wasn’t just the light coming through the window reflecting off them.

Marco’s eyes widened. “You told them about me?”

Jean’s expression changed to a look of concern, “Oh, yeah… Sorry about that.”

Shaking his head, Marco hurriedly replied, “No, no. It’s cool. I told Etta about you too. Before we saw you, I mean.”

There was a moment of silence as they both digested what the other had said. Marco’s mind was whirring; what had Jean told them? He suddenly cared so much what they thought of him, a new, strange feeling for someone who was usually so self-assured.

“It’s funny, Sasha and Connie are convinced this is a date.” said Jean, though his expression suggested it wasn’t funny to him at all.

Marco’s heart beat furiously. “Etta said the same thing.”

Jean’s smile was a thin veil for his nerves, “I guess that’s what this is then.”

“Letting my 15-year-old sister and your friends decide whether this is a date or not sounds like a solid foundation for dating.” Marco tried to keep his tone light and ignore the heat rising in his cheeks once more.

Jean laughed, his head tilting back with the force of it. This was bigger than any laugh Marco had heard from him before, and he doubted he laughed like that often. Marco wanted to hear that sound as much as he could, and be the cause of it.

Now that they had both agreed that this actually _was_  a date, Marco relaxed a little, though he wasn’t quite sure why. He noticed that Jean seemed more comfortable now too, even if he was still bouncing his leg up and down, scarcely avoiding knocking the table.

They talked and laughed with each other for so long, they watched the lunchtime rush come and go. They’d had two rounds of drinks, but now Marco worried they were taking up the space another customer could use.

“Shall we go somewhere else? Give someone else a chance to have the best seats in the place?” Marco asked, dipping his finger into the very little froth remaining in his cup.

Jean tilted his head. “Where do you wanna go?”

“We could go to the park or something. Sit by the river,” suggested Marco. He put his froth covered finger into his mouth. It was cold now, but still just as delicious as when the warmth of the coffee heated it.

“Yeah that sounds good,” Jean replied, “Shame you didn’t bring your guitar with you.”

Marco laughed a little, “I don’t tend to haul it along on first dates.”

“Maybe that’s where you’ve been going wrong.” Jean began to laugh too.

Marco wanted to say that he was glad that he hadn’t, that he was glad it had led him to Jean instead. However, the words got stuck in his throat as he smiled back at Jean. “Maybe. You ready to go now?”

Jean nodded and picked up his coat and bag; Marco followed suit. “Where’s this river then?”

Marco looked at him in disbelief. “Wow. How long did you say you’ve been living in this city? You really do need to get out more.”

As they left the coffee shop, Marco continued to drill into Jean about all the things he’d been missing out on right under his nose.

“I don’t really get the time to go sightseeing.” was his excuse, that Marco most definitely did not accept. Although, he noted that it did give them a lot of options for future dates.

“Well, we’re going to make time.” said Marco determinedly.

As they walked the cobbled streets that led to the park with the river, Marco felt the urge to take hold of Jean’s hand. _It’s too early_ , he thought. He didn’t want to ruin this great thing that was only just beginning by being too hasty. It hadn’t helped that sitting opposite him in the coffee shop had given him the perfect opportunity to look closely at Jean’s hands. They looked rather soft as if he moisturised them as often as he could, but he forgot to do it half of the time. Marco wanted to know what they would feel like in his, whether they really were as soft as they looked, or if maybe they were a little calloused. Was he the kind of person that always had warm hands, or was he someone that had cold hands and relished sticking them down someone’s back to make them shriek? Marco rubbed his own hands together. They were slightly clammy. Maybe it wouldn’t be the best idea to hold Jean’s hand right now.

“Marco?” Jean’s voice pushed through into his little daydream, his eyebrows furrowed together in a look of concern that Marco hadn’t seen before. He wanted to be fluent in Jean’s facial expressions.

“Sorry, got a little lost in my own head there.”

The tension in Jean’s face relaxed. “Yeah, I know what that’s like.”

“We’re almost at the park.”

The grey, stony streets of the city thinned out into a greener landscape. Slowly, the roads became infiltrated with trees and bushes until they reached the entrance of the park. Marco still could not believe Jean hadn’t been here before; he loved coming here in the summer, by himself to get a breather or with Etta to get ice-creams and laugh until they cried. He hoped he could fill memories with Jean here, too. Spring was just coming in, so the trees were covered in blossoms, interspersed with the usual overwhelming green.

Marco looked at Jean’s face. He was taking the park in with wide eyes. Marco knew there were prettier parks in the world, but none of them were _this_  park. “It’s nice, right?”

“I’d say nice is an understatement.” The sunlight was pouring onto Jean’s face, illuminating his skin.

Marco smiled, “See what you’ve been missing? I’m surprised Sasha and Connie never dragged you here.”

“They’ve probably tried at some point.”

Marco took a little bit of satisfaction out of the fact that he had succeeded where they hadn’t. “The river isn’t far. There're benches along it where we can sit.”

Following the path surrounded by daisies and dandelions, they reached the edge of the river. The new afternoon light was shining onto the surface of the water, creating flashes of light as the river flowed downstream, as if there were jewels sitting in the river bed.

Jean spotted the nearest bench first; Marco may have done if he had had his eyes on the world around him. They sat down and the conversation flowed just as it had done in the coffee shop. Now there were a few more insults and jibes thrown in.

“I really like talking to you,” Jean said after a while, then looked down and began to fiddle with his bag.

Marco’s heart swelled, and his cheeks weren’t just red from spending the entire remainder of the afternoon in the sun. “I really like talking to you too.” He bit the bullet. “Could I… could I get your number? So you can request me to serenade you whenever you like, of course.”

Jean laughed and took his phone out of his pocket. “That’s all I’m here for.”

They exchanged phone numbers; both of them relieved that they would no longer have to rely on chance meetings and lunch breaks. The sky was beginning to darken, and the crowds of people walking around the park were thinning.

“It’s getting late,” said Marco regretfully. Etta would be home soon, and he had to make dinner for the two of them.

“Yeah,” Jean replied, “This afternoon’s been nice.”

Marco looked at Jean with a raised eyebrow, “You’re a journalist and the best you can come up with is ‘nice’?”

Rolling his eyes, Jean listed “Fantastic. Extraordinary. Wonderful. Unforgettable…” Marco laughed as Jean continued to bust out as many synonyms as he could think of, ticking them off on his fingers.

“Okay, okay. I get it.” Marco held his arms up in surrender. “I thought it was too. I have to get back for Etta, though.”

Jean’s joking aura faded, “She’s really lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have her.” Marco stood up and patted down his clothes to check he still had all of his belongings on him. After making sure everything was in check, he said, “Shall we get going, then?”

Jean pushed himself up off the bench. “Yeah.”

They walked back out of the park the way they came, chatting all the way. Marco got the impression that Jean didn’t usually talk this much, about himself anyway, and he was glad that he felt that he could do that around him. They reached Marco’s bus stop much earlier than either of them wished. Marco had considered inviting Jean over, but he didn’t want to overstep. This was only their first date, after all. There would be time for that later.

“How long does it take to get to your place on the bus?” Jean asked as they were waiting for it to arrive.

“Oh, not too long. About twenty minutes or so. Depends on the traffic,” Marco replied, his hand wrapped around the bus stop pole. He removed it moments later after his common sense caught up and reminded him that he had no idea how dirty that thing was. “Way better than walking, though.”

Jean nodded in agreement. “Do you always come to this part of town busking?”

“Nah, I like to switch it up a bit when I can. I’ll drop by at your work when I can though,” said Marco, risking a wink, immediately followed by a chorus of _why did I do that_  in his head.

Jean huffed and lowered his head, perhaps to hide his blush. “Appreciated. What else do you do, besides the busking? I can’t believe it’s taken me all day to ask that.”

“It’s cool. I teach guitar; kids or adults, whoever wants me really.” Marco shrugged. The night was drawing in, and a chill ran up his bare arms. Why did he never learn to bring a jacket?

“Do you like it?” Jean asked. By his facial expressions, Marco could only guess that he was intrigued.

“Yeah, it’s fun. It can be challenging, though. Especially if the kid doesn’t want to learn, and the parents are forcing them to.” The worst part of the job is when a child starts crying because they aren’t as good as they want to be. Marco reassures them that it takes practice and time to get better, but it doesn’t help when most of them want to be good _now_ /.

“That sounds tough,” Jean sympathised.

“It’s rewarding though. When you get to see them play the piece they’ve been practicing for months really well, it’s worth it.” Marco smiled thinking about all the children he’d coached over the years and how proud he felt when they finally mastered a difficult piece of music. Watching them grow and improve was something he loved just as much as the music itself.

The mechanic whir of an engine greeted them as the bus they had been waited for turned around the corner and slowed to a stop on the road beside them. “That’s my ride,” said Marco solemnly. He didn’t want to leave, it was taking everything in him to force his hand into his wallet to take out his bus pass.

“It’s been really great hanging out with you,” Jean said, the light radiating from the bus revealing the peachy tone of his cheeks.

“Are nice and great the only words in your vocabulary?”

Jean groaned.

“I’m kidding.” Marco let out a breathy laugh. He turned to look at the bus driver, whose expression did not make him appear very patient. “I’d better get on before it leaves without me.”

Jean nodded. “I’ll text you.”

Marco waved, hopped onto the bus, and watched through his window as Jean walked away, back to his own apartment.

-

Jean felt warmer than he had in a long, long time. And it wasn’t because he had decided to wear an extra layer that day. Well, maybe it was, but the warmth ran deeper than just skin deep. Just last week, Jean had admired Marco from a distance, and now they had gone on a date. Not just a date, a really great one. Jean could hardly believe it. As he walked down the darkened streets back to his apartment, he wasn’t actually dreading going back. The lack of Marco in his presence was rather jarring after spending almost the whole day with him, but the feeling of his words, his laugh and his calm remained strong in Jean’s chest. He took out his phone and texted Sasha and Connie:

 **JEAN:** _Just getting home. Date went really well._

 **SASHA:** _i knew it was a date!!!!_

 **CONNIE:** _i thought u were just getting coffee??? in the morning? it’s almost 7 pm???_

 **JEAN:** _We went to the park after. I’ll tell you when you guys are back_ /

Jean grinned to himself and put his phone back in his pocket, and went home with the thought of Marco’s smile firmly imprinted onto his brain. 


	4. new message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean is very easily distracted by Marco, even if it's only through a text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always i can be found on [tumblr](http://sugakoush.tumblr.com) !!!

When Jean woke on Sunday morning, the first thought in his mind was that Marco Bodt’s number was in his phone. He could send him a text, easy as anything, and start a conversation, but something stopped him. He had never understood the point of playing hard to get, or laying low with someone you liked, what was the point? If you wanted to talk to someone, you should just do it. That way, you’re both on the same page, is what he had always thought. Now, he felt like the biggest hypocrite in the world. His thumbs hovered over Marco’s contact name as he mentally composed a text message. Everything he came up with came off too needy, too clingy, too cringe worthy. They had only just seen each other yesterday, after all. Jean sighed and put down his phone. He never thought there would come a day where he would succumb to societal norms. He repeated the cycle of picking up his phone, looking at Marco’s number, then abandoning the idea completely throughout the day.

He caved in on Monday morning.

He stood in his kitchen brewing his coffee for the morning, having learnt he didn’t have the time to stop off to grab one on his way and found himself in the same situation as he had been in continuously the day before. Marco had said he liked talking to him, and texting was exactly like talking, he told himself to psych himself up. All there was to lose was his dignity, and if this thing with Marco turned into anything serious, he would find out eventually that he had none of that left anyway.

**JEAN:** _Any chance of a handsome musician out by the flowerbed today?_

As soon as he hit send, he regretted including the word _handsome_. He cringed and put his phone back in his pocket so he did not have to look at the monstrosity of a text he had just sent for any longer than he had to.

Jean was at his desk about to begin the research for his latest article by the time he received a reply.

**MARCO:** _No, sorry. Two of my students have exams coming up so I’m giving them extra lessons for a few weeks :D !!!!_

Jean had not taken Marco to be the type of person who used emojis and excessive punctuation, but the more he thought about it, the more Marco it seemed. As he typed out his own reply, a small smile began to form on his face.

**JEAN:** _Guess I’ll have to wait for another serenading then :/ Hope their exams go well though_

**MARCO:** _Absence makes the heart grow fonder haha :P They’re talented kids they’ll do great_

Jean’s cheeks warmed. How the fuck could someone be so adorable over text message? Usually, he found the use of such emojis irritating, but when they came from Marco, every one felt like a little piece of his warm personality coming through the screen.

**JEAN:** _It helps having a great teacher too though_

**MARCO:**   _I could be the worst teacher in the world u never know!!!!_

**JEAN:** _Damn that’s true. If you are you just exposed yourself tho :/ Rip_

**MARCO:** _Oops :(_

**MARCO:** _What article are u writing today?? :) :)_

Jean had to take a second to remember what article he _was_  meant to be writing today. Somehow, twenty minutes had gone by and all he had done was text Marco. Maybe sending the first text at the start of a work day wasn’t the best idea he had ever had. He put down his phone and looked back at his computer screen to remind himself what he had been researching before he received the first text. As he scrolled through the brief again, it all flooded back to him.

**JEAN:** _One about a local school raising some money for charity. One of the more fun ones I’ve done, I’d say_

**MARCO:** _That’s great!!! :D How much have u done so far??_

**JEAN:** _……0 words. I need to call one of the teachers to interview them._

**MARCO** : _I’ll leave u to it then, I have a lesson starting soon anyway !! Good luck :D_

**JEAN** : Thanks, have a good day!!

Jean locked his phone and put it face down on his desk. His cheeks were aching as he tried to refocus his attention on the article he should have already made a start on. After staring blankly at his screen for a few moments, his mind completely elsewhere, he realised he needed his phone to make the phone call to the teacher in the first place. He took a drink of his flask of coffee, hoping the caffeine would stir his brain into action. Calling people on the phone was one of his least favourite parts of the job; all he wanted to do was the writing up, get the story out to the world in the least biased way possible, but of course, everything had a downside. He picked up his phone again and dialled the number.

The phone call lasted almost two hours, and the teacher was not very forthcoming with answers. They explained that they were on their break, and doing it in their own free time, but Jean thought they could have at least answered his questions without sounding so unenthusiastic. It was positive publicity for the school, so he could not think of a single reason they were being so pissy about it. Maybe he had caught them on a bad day, but that didn’t warrant them a free pass to change Jean’s good day into a bad one.

He had an article to write and little to no information to write about. He had the amount the school had raised and the events that had taken place which could suffice if he was clever about it, although a couple of names and personal stories would have been a nice touch.

Jean entered all of the very minimal information he had gathered into a word document, then decided to break for lunch. As he walked down to the break room at the end of the corridor, he shot a text to Marco.

**JEAN:** _Finally finished that interview with the teacher. Was not the greatest experience of my life._

A few minutes later, after Jean had sat down by the closest window with his lunch, his phone vibrated.

**MARCO:** _:O what happened???_

**JEAN:** _Two hours and I got about 3 things out of them. Highlight was me asking if there were any kids that did anything extra special and they basically told me they didn’t know any of the kids’ names let alone what they were doing on the day_

**MARCO:** _What the !!! How can a teacher not know the kids’ names???!!?_

**JEAN:** _They can’t all be as great as you._

Jean’s fingers were working faster than his brain. Before Marco could reply, he hastily sent another message.

**JEAN:**   _How’s your day going??_

**MARCO** : _Could be better TBH, my first lesson of the day just finished and the kid (George - I know ALL their names thank u very much) is feeling pretty stressed out about his exam :( I did my best to tell him he’ll do great, not sure if it helped_

**JEAN** : _I’ll bet it did, he’ll do great for sure_

**MARCO** : _Yeah I know he will, I just wish he did too :(_

**JEAN:**   _All you can do is remind him. How many more lessons have you got today?_

**MARCO:**   _3, my next one is in about 10 mins so I’d better go_

**JEAN:**   _Talk to you later?_

**MARCO** : _Yep!! Have fun with that article :D_

Jean tucked his phone back into his pocket and went back to his desk to finish this damn article. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to focus on the task at hand. He felt a little bad, the school had done a good deed and it deserved to be known by the world, but thoughts of Marco were right at the forefront of his mind, overshadowing the word document in front of him. He admired Marco’s dedication to his students; he genuinely cared about them and saw them as people rather than a means to a paycheck. He wondered what the kids themselves thought about Marco, probably indescribably good things if Jean’s own experience was anything to go by.

After finally regaining some focus and finishing a painstaking draft, Jean returned to his apartment, chest still feeling light and fluttery from Marco’s texts earlier. Some TV show that he was not the least bit invested in was on the screen as he lay lengthwise on his sofa, and he felt his brain cells dribble out of his ear as the dialogue grew even more terrible with every sentence that was spoken. His phone buzzed. He ripped it from his pocket without a second’s hesitation.

**SASHA:** _so when do we get to hear all about lover boy??? hmmmm?_

Jean slumped back onto the sofa; unable to hide his disappointment from himself that it wasn’t from Marco. He had missed Sasha and Connie this weekend and he was keen to hang out with them again soon, but he had almost assumed he would see Marco’s name on his phone.

**CONNIE:**  sasha _has some interesting theories that u might want to debunk before she gets ahead of herself_

Jean could only imagine what was going on in the depths of Sasha’s brain. She and Connie had spent the whole weekend with each other, who knew what the two of them had conjured up in that time. He didn’t even want to think about it.

**JEAN:**   _No theories allowed. Maybe if you pay for dinner I’ll tell you_

**SASHA** : _done!!! how about this thurs unless ur too busy with the lover boy in question??_

**JEAN** : _No I’m free then. I want dessert as well. I’m going full Sasha_

**SASHA:** _i told u not to say that!!!_

**JEAN:** _¯\\_(ツ)_/¯_

**SASHA:** _connieeeee help me_

**CONNIE:** /¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**SASHA:**   _i hate u both i deserve a medal for putting up with the pair of u_

Jean smiled at his phone and suppressed a laugh. He put his phone back in his pocket and wandered into the kitchen for a drink. As he was pouring juice into his glass, his phone vibrated again. Assuming it was from Connie or Sasha, he took it from his pocket nonchalantly.

**MARCO:** _Long day!!! Did u get that article done?? :)_

Jean stared at his phone screen. Juice spilt down the side of the glass and onto the kitchen worktop. “Fuck!” He put the carton of juice down along with his phone and grabbed some paper towels to clean up the mess. When the surface was satisfactorily shiny again, he put the juice back into the fridge and took his phone and drink back into the living room. He took a sip of his juice and typed out a reply. Then he erased it. Then he typed it out again.

**JEAN:** _Eventually! How were ur last few lessons??_

**MARCO:**   _They went pretty well!!_

**MARCO:** _Would u mind if I called U?_

Jean sat up properly.

**JEAN** : _That’s fine with me_

_**Marco calling….** _

Jean finished his drink and put the glass on the table beside his sofa. There was no chance he was going to risk choking on that thing. He had done it before, so he wouldn’t put it past himself to do it again. He answered the call.

“Hey,” Jean said, attempting to sound as casual as possible. He had no idea how well it was working. If the pounding in his chest way anything to go by, it wasn’t going very well at all.

“Hey, Jean.” Marco’s voice was filtered slightly by the phone line between them, but the sound of his name coming from Marco made Jean’s chest tight. “I won’t give you such a hard time as that other teacher today.”

Jean laughed and sunk into the sofa. “Means a lot. Glad I don’t have to deal with them anymore now I’ve finished the article. No thanks to them, of course.”

“Your talent just can’t be hindered, not even by awful teachers,” Marco replied, laughing as well. Jean wondered how he was sitting. Was he sitting? He could be standing, or lying on his bed.

“So, why’d you call?” asked Jean, unable to keep a hold of his curiosity any longer; he had barely lasted thirty seconds without asking.

Marco made a kind of “eh” noise. “Texting’s less personal.”

“Even with all those emojis?” Jean teased, he would never admit he liked receiving them.

Marco sighed dramatically. “They help, but they aren’t enough.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Jean burst out laughing. Marco followed suit. After a few minutes of just listening to each other’s laughs, a silence fell on them. It was a nice kind of silence, where they sat knowing the other was there on the other end of the line, with no pressure to talk.

“Wanna come over?” Marco asked, breaking the quiet suddenly.

Jean checked the time on his TV. It wasn’t too late. “Sure.” Then, an idea popped into his head. “Want me to bring my record player?”

“Yes!” Marco said, excitement spilling from his voice, “Wait, isn’t it like, really heavy?”

“A bit,” Jean admitted, “I can manage it though.”

“Wouldn’t it just be easier if I came to you?”

Jean thought about it. It did make a hell of a lot more sense. “Yeah, okay. I’ll meet you at the bus stop.”

-

“Etta?” Marco opened his sister’s bedroom door and peeked his head around. When he saw that she was sat upon her bed, he continued, “I’m going to a friend’s. I shouldn’t be too long. You’ll be alright by yourself for a bit, right?”

Etta nodded, “Is it that guy we saw in the record store? John?”

“Jean.”

“What I said. So, it’s him?”

Marco had no idea how she had managed to guess immediately, but he wasn’t particularly surprised either. “Yeah. Call me if you need anything, I’ll be back soon.”

Marco retreated out of her room and closed the door behind him. He went to his pile of records and picked out three that he thought would be Jean’s style. He didn’t know the ins and outs of his music taste yet, but he knew that he liked The Smiths, and that was a good place to start. Marco carefully tucked the records under his arm, and made his way to the bus stop.

Thankfully, the evenings were getting lighter, so he didn’t have to walk in the dark. When he reached the bus stop, a bus was already there, so he jumped on, and made his way to Jean’s.

As the bus approached his stop, Marco could see a figure in the distance who could only be Jean. He had his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, looking slightly colder than one usually would on a spring, almost summer, evening.

When the bus came to a halt, Marco thanked the driver and headed straight to Jean with an involuntary smile plastered on his face. He took the records from under the protection of his arm and lifted them up to show Jean. “Got some tunes.”

“Tunes?” Jean raised an eyebrow.

Marco shrugged. “It’s what the kids are saying.”

“That makes you sound ancient,” said Jean, badly stifling a laugh.

“Twenty-three is ancient to kids.”

Jean didn’t disagree. “My apartment’s this way.”

They walked next to each other on the pavement, Marco tightly gripping the records under his arm. When he had asked Jean to come over, it had been on a whim, and he certainly had not expected to be going to _his_ place instead. He wasn’t disappointed, the complete opposite, in fact, he was just not in the slightest bit prepared. Homes revealed the smallest and yet the biggest things about someone; was he ready to see that about Jean? He didn’t have much time to ponder about it since they were soon outside of his front door.

“We’re here,” Jean said, leading the way to the entrance of the building. From the outside, it looked like any other apartment building Marco had seen in the city, not too dissimilar from his own only twenty minutes away.

Jean lead him up the stairs and through his own front door. Jean pulled a face as he looked around his living room as if he were the one seeing it for the first time. “Sorry, didn’t exactly get much time to clean up.”

“No, no. It’s fine,” replied Marco, shaking his head. It looked more authentic, lived in, than a spotless room with no sign of life.

“Do you want a drink or anything?” Jean asked, taking off his jacket.

“I’m okay, thanks.” Marco stood looking around the apartment. It was nicely decorated; the odd houseplant here and there. “Where should I put these?” Marco gestured to his records.

“Oh, yeah. The record player’s just over here.” Jean walked over to a chest of drawers and opened up the bottom drawer which was deeper than the ones above it. He took out what appeared to be an ordinary-looking suitcase. Delicately, he placed it on the coffee table sat in between the sofa and the television and unclipped the lock. Inside the suitcase, was one of the prettiest record players Marco had seen. And he spent a lot of time gazing at them in store windows and online. The golden brown of the suitcase contrasted with the sleek velvet black of the inside material covering.

“You’ve got a really nice one there.” said Marco.

“My mum gave it to me,” Jean uttered, barely loud enough for Marco to hear. Removing his gaze from the record player, he looked up to Marco. “Which one do you want to play first?”

Marco flipped through the three vinyl’s he had brought with him and picked out the middle one. “I think you’ll like this guy. Sufjan Stevens.” He took the record out of the sleeve and held it out to Jean. Jean took it and slid it on to place on the record player.


	5. listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco and Jean get to know each other by listening to records together, or they try to, anyway.

Marco sat on the sofa, and Jean took the space next to him as the song began to play. Marco was having doubts now that the first few notes were playing; what if he had gotten Jean’s taste all wrong? He had two other albums with him, there was a chance he would like at least one of them. Hopefully. Marco slid his gaze to Jean, careful not to turn his whole head. He was transfixed on the record player, but his expression was giving up no hints as to whether he actually liked what he was hearing or not. His brow was creased a little, perhaps in thought. Marco wished he would say something. The song, _Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois_ / was rather short.

When it was finished, Marco was more0 anxious than ever to know Jean’s thoughts. He sat towards the edge of the sofa and angled himself towards Jean. “What did you think? I wasn’t quite sure what you liked, so-”

“I really liked it.”

Marco breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. I was a little worried I’d picked wrong.”

“It’s a bit different to what I would usually listen to, but I liked it.” The next song had already begun to play as Jean shot a quick smile at Marco.

Marco leant back against the sofa again as he returned the gesture. “Sufjan is one of a kind.”

“You say that like you know him.”

“Who says I don’t?” Marco attempted to keep a straight look on his face, but it all crumbled down when Jean raised an eyebrow at him. A smile broke out onto Marco’s face against his will. “Fine, I don’t know him,” he admitted.

“Knew he was too cool for you.” Jean smirked. Marco mockingly hit him on the arm and pouted. Jean cradled his arm in mock pain, though there a was a smile stretching out his lips. “Ouch, dude.”

Marco shrugged. Then he leant forward, quickly. “I didn’t actually hurt you, did I?” His voice was urgent.

Jean shook his head, his smile out in full now. “No, you’ll have to try much harder than that.”

Huffing, Marco returned his attention to the record player. “We’ve missed the song now.”

“We can always listen to it again another time,” suggested Jean, “There’s still loads more to listen to anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right. You can borrow the vinyl if you want to, you know.” Marco offered. He didn’t have his own record player, so the only thing he would be losing would be the aesthetic of his apartment, but that was not the reason he wanted Jean to take the vinyl, if only temporarily. Marco had listened to the songs on that album countless times, sung along to them on his good days, and let them comfort him on his bad ones, only through his phone or speakers of course. There was a part of him stuck in between the chords and the lyrics of those songs now, and he wanted Jean to hear them and pick them apart, to see him in the midst of it all. The quickest way to get to the root of someone was to listen to their favourite music, was what Marco had always thought. And that was what he was offering Jean now.

Jean looked at Marco with a soft expression on his face that Marco couldn’t quite interpret. He would need to listen to some of Jean’s music choices too, at some point. “I’d like to, thanks.”

Marco grinned. “Don’t get too attached, I would like it back.”

“Not sure I can promise that.”

“I guess I can settle for sharing.” If it meant that he got to see Jean more often, Marco wasn’t bothered in the slightest. “Shall we move on from Sufjan? Just for a bit?”

“If we must,” Jean replied. “I really do like him a lot.”

Marco separated the two records on the coffee table so that they were both on full display. The one on the left, closest to the record player, had a navy-blue sleeve that looked like cotton, as if it had been knitted together. In the centre, was a golden logo with the word _ATLAS_ printed. Marco picked it up, nd slid the vinyl out of the sleeve. “This one next.”

“I don’t get to pick?”

Marco looked almost apologetic. Almost. “Please.”

Jean rolled his eyes and took the first vinyl out of the record player and replaced it with the one that Marco had gripped with careful but firm fingers. “What’s this one?”

“Sleeping at Last. The song I did for you is on this one. Not sure if it was the best idea of mine, now you’ll be able to see how I butchered it.”

Jean’s face turned serious. “You didn’t butcher it.”

“Shush and listen to the masters at work,” said Marco with a finger at his lips. Jean opened his mouth to say something, but Marco stopped him with his free hand before he could get a syllable out. Jean’s eyes widened and he raised one eyebrow at him. Marco raised his own, then felt a gush of air against the palm of his hand as laughter escaped Jean’s mouth. Marco held his ground and kept his hand firmly in place as the first notes of the song began. Jean’s laughing slowly came to a stop as the pair of them listened.

Satisfied that Jean wasn’t about to start blabbing, Marco removed his hand from his own mouth and Jean’s. The living room was silent apart from the song; they had the volume loud enough to dull down any evidence of everyday life. Marco wasn’t sure where to look. He looked down at the record player and watched the vinyl spin, then his eyes wandered to his hands now on his lap, and finally made their way back to Jean, as if that was their destination all along. The palm of his hand was still warm where it had been on Jean’s mouth.

The song ended and bled into the next one.

“I liked your version better,” said Jean quickly; probably cautious that Marco would shush him again.

“Your music taste credibility is now at an all-time low.” Marco smiled weakly, though the compliment when straight to his heart. He hadn’t the slightest clue as to how Jean had come to that conclusion, yet he couldn’t help but be glad that he did.

Jean shrugged. “The original is good, like  _really good_ /, but with all the effects and tuning and stuff it ends up sounding a bit manufactured. Yours was authentic. It was you.”

Marco didn’t know what to say. He scrambled around his brain for a thank you. “That means a lot to me… Thanks, Jean.”

A pink tint was rising in Jean’s cheeks. “I’m just being honest.”

“I appreciate it.” Marco smiled, then his face fell. “Damn it, we’re missing a song again.”

Jean laughed. “We’re not very good at this.”

“Apparently not,” replied Marco; Jean’s laugh was a little infectious, even when he was being snarky. Marco glanced down at his watch and his heart sank. He had the same feeling as he had on Saturday evening, he didn’t want to leave, but he knew he had to. It was getting late, Etta was waiting for him back at home, and he knew that Jean had work in the morning. Marco stood up. “I think it’s time I head off home unfortunately.”

Jean’s face was exactly how Marco felt, but he hid it quickly. “I had a lot of fun tonight. Thanks for coming over.”

“Walk me to the bus stop? I’ll leave those records here for you, only if you promise to give me detailed reviews of each one.”

Jean joined Marco standing, “Yeah. Promise.”

-

When Marco arrived home, Etta was asleep in her bed and he himself was exhausted. In a good way, though. His eyelids were growing heavy, but there was still a shadow of a smile on his face. He couldn’t wait to lie down on his bed and embrace whatever confuddled mess his dreams made up of his day.

Just as his head was about to hit the pillow, he received a text message.

 **JEAN** : _Goodnight guitarboy_

 **MARCO** : _Goodnight my biggest fan_

Marco smiled to himself, put his phone on his bedside table, and went to sleep.

-

The next morning, already awake, Marco quickly switched off his alarm before it had a chance to wreak havoc. He slumped back into the lying position he had been in previously; there was a puddle of drool forming on the pillow. His eyelids drooped, everything went black. He snapped them back open; he couldn’t afford the extra snooze right now, it would have to wait until later. Reluctantly, Marco peeled himself out from underneath his duvet. He grabbed his dressing gown and headed for Etta’s room. He knocked on the door. “Etta? You awake yet?” Satisfied with the muffled groan coming from behind the door, Marco made his way into the kitchen to make breakfast. Technically, he didn’t have to be up and ready for another few hours, but he liked to see Etta go. Otherwise, he would only see her in the evenings and that wasn’t quite enough for him.

Marco retrieved juice from the fridge for Etta and set the kettle to boil for his coffee. As he was pouring the juice into a glass, Etta entered the room looking as if she had literally just left her bed, which she probably had.

“Morning,” said Marco, offering her the glass of juice.

Etta took it and had a sip. “How was last night? With your friend?” Her eyebrow raised when she said _friend_.

Heat rose in Marco’s face. “It was good.”

“Do I want to know the details?”

“Nothing _happened_. I brought some records over for us to listen to.”

Etta didn’t seem convinced. She took another drink of her juice.

“Seriously. We listened to Sufjan and Sleeping at Last. That’s all.”

The kettle pinged. Marco was glad to have a distraction and hurriedly poured the boiling water into his mug. He stirred until all the coffee grains he could see had dissolved.

“Did he like Sufjan?” asked Etta, her expression as interrogative as ever.

“Yeah, he said he really liked it.” The edges of Marco’s lips turned up at the memory. Though it had only just happened last night, he had a feeling he would remember it for a long time.

“He has good taste,” Etta replied, impressed. She tucked stray piece of hair behind her ear. “When are you seeing him again?”

“Not sure yet, we’ll arrange something I suppose. Anyway, stop chatting and have breakfast or you’ll be late.” Marco tried his best to put on a stern face. He knew it wasn’t very effective, he liked being able to talk to Etta about these things, but he also liked her getting to school on time. Seconds had passed, and she was still yet to move. He made a “go on” gesture with his hands.

Etta rolled her eyes, then got a bowl and a box of cereal out of the cupboard. After getting the milk, she turned back to Marco. “I hope this works out for you.”

Marco smiled at her. “Me too.”

After Etta had left and they had said their goodbyes, Marco had some time on his hands and made the split-second decision to shoot Jean a text.

 **MARCO:** _Hope u don’t have to deal with any more annoying teachers today :) #notallteachers_

 **JEAN:** _There’s one teacher that makes up for the bad ones_

Marco had not been expecting that reply. His cheeks flushed and a smile spread across his face against his will. With his heart beginning to race, he typed out a reply.

 **MARCO:** _Flattery won’t get u free lessons sorry :)_

 **JEAN:** _Does that mean there’s something that will?_

Marco bit his lip. He hadn’t thought about that.

 **MARCO:** _Maybe. Get back to work before i turn into an annoying teacher on u :P_

 **JEAN:** _Damn what a threat :/_

 **JEAN:** _I’ll have to work on getting those free lessons._

He wouldn’t have to work very hard at all, Marco thought.

 **MARCO:**   _Get me a muffin and i might think about it. Possibly_

 **JEAN:** _How about dinner instead?_

Marco nearly choked on thin air.

 **MARCO:** _Sooo, a second date? :)_

 **JEAN** : _A bargaining chip, a second date, whatever you want to call it._

 **JEAN:**   _:)_

-

All throughout his first lesson of the day, Marco was thinking about Jean. They had arranged dinner for Saturday night, and he was already thinking about what he would wear. He felt awful about it, George really wanted to do well on his exam, and Marco wanted the same for him, but he was distracted. Again and again, he had to refocus himself on the present moment.

Eventually, after compromising with himself that he could think about it to his heart’s content later, he was able to hone in on George’s mistakes and successes and help him to improve. By the end of the lesson, there was a smile on his student’s face as the confidence he had in himself to do the exam grew. Marco felt immense pride as he looked at his student and remembered how he had played in their first ever lesson; he had come a long way from an untuned guitar and clumsy fingers.

“You’re gonna ace that exam,” Marco told him, lifting his hand for a high-five.

“I hope so.” George jumped up and hit Marco’s outstretched hand.

Later in the day, after Marco had finished all of his lessons, he collapsed onto his sofa once more. The extra lessons were great, he had a little extra income for a while, but they were draining. The lessons themselves were a breeze most of the time, yet dealing with the parents was something that Marco dreaded. When he saw them, he was reminded of his own parents, and that only made him feel sad. There was no other word for it, sad was big and encompassing despite being only three letters, and that was how it felt.

Marco turned on the TV, desperate for something else to think about. He thought about Jean. Something so unexpected and so sudden was giving him so much joy, and he was grateful for that. But he was also afraid. Afraid that it would fall apart, or they would fizzle out like the things that he had had before. They were only going on a second date, but Marco wanted to cling onto it for dear life. He hoped that Jean was willing to hold on with the same force.

-

Wednesday and Thursday passed and the highlights of Jean’s days turned out to be the emoji-riddled texts he received from Marco. They talked about each other’s days and it was refreshing for Jean to express himself in front of someone was something new, something different, something that he wanted to become familiar with. These thoughts rolled around Jean’s mind as he walked to meet with Sasha and Connie for their dinner. He was prepared for an interrogation from Sasha this time, and there was a sliver of excitement to tell them about the past few days. He could already picture Connie’s raised eyebrow and Sasha’s array of noises that he still could not decipher. As he turned the corner, he spotted the two of them standing outside the restaurant in what seemed to be an involved conversation. Jean approached them and they turned to the sound of his footsteps.

“Hey dude,” said Connie, giving him light punch on the arm, reminding him of when Marco had done the same.

“Hey.”

“How’s lover boy?” Sasha asked, her eyes intense.

“Not even a hello?” said Jean, acting pained as they walked into the restaurant. A mixture of aromas hit them as they passed through the threshold. Jean could tell Sasha had narrowly avoided complete distraction.

“Gotta get straight down to business,” replied Sasha as they headed towards the nearest empty table.

“Shouldn’t it be gay down to business?” Connie suggested with a smile playing on his face.

Jean rolled his eyes; it would be the first of many this evening, he knew. “ _Marco_  is fine. He has a name, you know.”

Luckily, the free table was a booth, which everyone knows is the best kind of table. They sunk down into their seats and Sasha immediately grabbed a menu from the menu holder, Connie not far behind. Jean picked one up with considerably less enthusiasm, though he was starting to feel a gnawing hunger in his stomach.

“Lover boy is more fun,” said Sasha, not taking her eyes of the menu. Her eyes were wide as she scanned each and every item on the list.

“Makes your face go red,” Connie shrugged, his smile transforming into a smirk. Jean kicked him under the table. “Hey!”

“Will you two be pipe down? I can’t decide what to get. Prawns or pasta.” Sasha furrowed her eyebrows, her face torn.

Connie tried to give Jean a scowl from across the table. “What’s stopping you from getting both?”

Sasha slammed the menu down onto the table “You’re right!” She waved over a waiter and the three of them ordered their food. She switched her stare to Jean. “Now, tell us _everything_.”

As Jean told his two best friends about his Saturday with Marco, the empty seat next to him felt more present than ever. It had only been a few days since they had last been together, yet Jean couldn’t help but miss Marco. His jokes, his smile, and the way he felt calm around him. Jean told himself to get a grip; getting clingy this early on could never turn out well.

“Damn, he must really like you if he spent literally the whole day with you,” said Connie. As Jean predicted, his eyebrow was raised. A waiter came by with their drinks and placed them on the table.

“He came to my place on Monday as well,” said Jean after the waiter had left and was decidedly out of earshot.

Sasha nearly choked on her drink. “And?! What happened?!”

“He brought some records over and we listened to them on my record player.”

“Didn’t even know you had a record player,” Connie mused, looking a little impressed.

“I don’t use it that much, so…” Jean trailed off. He usually kept the thing inside a cupboard where he didn’t have to look at it or be reminded that he even had it, but for some reason with Marco, he had taken it out of its hiding place without thinking.

“Never knew you were such a romantic, Jean.” said Sasha, twirling the ice in her drink with her straw. She took one ice cube out and popped it into her mouth. Connie glared at her. “What?”

Jean looked down at his drink. He had never considered himself a romantic, either. Sure, he had liked people before, but it had never really felt like this. His phone buzzed; he shoved his hand into his pocket to grab it.

 **MARCO:** _Sorry I haven’t been able to text much today, been super busy!! How was ur day? :D_

“Who’s that?” asked Sasha, “You’re smiling! It’s him, isn’t it?! I wanna see!”

“Give the man some privacy.” Connie elbowed her in the ribs. She pouted at him. Connie elbowed her again.

“Ow!”

 **JEAN:** _That’s ok. It’s been good, I’m having dinner w Connie & Sasha rn._

 **MARCO:** _Fun !! I’ll talk to you later then, tell them hi from me :D_

“He says hi.” Jean turned the phone so that the pair of them could see; they stopped their elbowing for a brief moment to read it.

“Huh. I expected more hearts,” said Sasha. “I say hi back, though.”

“Yeah, me too. To both.” Connie slouched back in his seat.

The waiter arrived with their meals; Jean was pretty sure he could physically see Sasha’s mouth watering at the sight of her food. She watched all too eagerly as the waiter placed her two plates in front of her. He could almost hear he brain ticking as she decided which one to devour first. He quickly tapped out a reply to Marco, then put his phone back in his pocket.

Sasha swallowed a mouthful of food and pointed her fork at Jean. “I wanna meet Marco at some point. Seems like a cool guy.”

“Maybe in a while, if you don’t call him lover boy. Wouldn’t wanna scare him off.” Jean couldn’t help but smile.

Sasha smiled back. “I can’t promise that. It’s a cute nickname, you gotta admit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://sugakoush.tumblr.com) !!!


	6. state of my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Marco go out for dinner, but that's just the start of their night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title is from The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us! by Sufjan Stevens because apparently his songs are inspiring this whole thing???? idk man

Jean had no idea what to wear. It was Saturday evening, finally, after the dragging week eventually came to an end. It was 7. Jean was meeting Marco at 8. The contents of his wardrobe was currently spread out across his bedroom floor, the top contenders lying atop his bed. Jean scratched his head. He had never been one to keep up with fashion trends; when he wore something, it was because he himself liked it, but right now he didn’t much like any of the options in front of him. He had already texted Sasha and Connie for help, and as expected, neither of their answers had been particularly helpful. Sasha said it didn’t matter what he wore as long as he didn’t spill any food on it and Connie suggested _not_  wearing a Hawaiian shirt; he had learnt from experience. Jean sighed and picked up a shirt and began to examine it for the umpteenth time. It was one of his older ones, the fabric was thinning in some places but there were no visible holes yet, and it was the most comfortable of his shirts to wear. Can’t go wrong with burgundy, can you? He put it down and picked up the next nearest shirt.

He had one thing decided on at least: black jeans, what the hell else would a guy in this day and age wear?

After rifling through almost every single shirt he owned, Jean gave in and put on the burgundy shirt. It had been the obvious choice all along, but his nerves were throwing him off.

Jean wasn’t exactly sure why he was nervous; all of the other times he had been with Marco, the nerves fell away as soon as they were together, and he felt as comfortable as if he were with an old friend. Yet, the thought of seeing Marco’s freckled face and looking into the chestnut shade of his eyes again was enough to send the butterflies in his stomach into a frenzy.

They had agreed to meet outside of the restaurant; Jean would have liked to have picked Marco up so that he didn’t need to keep getting the bus, but his lack of a car was a considerably big issue. Marco had assured him it wasn’t that big of a deal, but Jean still felt the guilt settle in the pit of his stomach.

Jean arrived a little early; his worries of being late overriding his sense of logic. He peered into the window of the restaurant with as much subtlety as he could muster, but Marco was not inside. Stepping back from the window, he heard footsteps from behind him. Instinctively, he turned to the source of the noise and spotted Marco.

Sporting a crisp cream shirt and navy-blue trousers, Marco looked _good_. Not that he didn’t always, but the sight of him in smart clothes as the sun sunk below the ground behind him was sending Jean’s butterflies on a trip all around his body, not just his stomach. A smile appeared on Marco’s face as he approached Jean, big enough to make his eyes crinkle at the edges. Jean smiled back, though one thing was puzzling him: Marco had his arms tucked behind his back

Before Jean had any more time to ponder at Marco’s strange choice of posture, he brought his hands forward to reveal a bouquet of flowers. The bulk of them were pearly white and blue and from Jean’s knowledge, appeared to be lilies. Scattered in the mix were a few with deep purple petals.

Marco held them out towards Jean. “These are for you.”

For once in his life, Jean was speechless. “Th - Thank you,” he stuttered. He took the bouquet from Marco’s hands, a little transfixed by the colours. No one had ever given him flowers before; he wasn’t sure if he had even bought some for himself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s okay,” Marco reassured him. “They’re a gift. Shall we go in?”

Jean nodded and followed him inside, keeping a tight grip on the bouquet. He hadn’t even thought of buying Marco a gift; he truly thought of everything.

They greeted the entrance staff, told them the name of the reservation, and followed the waiter to their table.

As they were taking their seats, Marco asked, “What have you been up to today?”

“Not much, to be honest. Work’s been busy so I slept in and read a bit.” Jean replied, setting the bouquet on the table. “What about you?”

“The same, really. I practiced some new songs on my guitar.” Marco flipped through the menu, a look of concentration forming on his face.

Jean took the other menu and began to read. “Have you been here before?”

Marco looked up, his face shadowed by the dark lighting of the restaurant. “No, Etta and I tend to do take away more. But this is a nice change.”

“Ah. Connie and Sasha have taken me to literally every restaurant in this city.”

“But they still couldn’t get you to the park. Pity,” said Marco, shaking his head with a laugh.

“There’s no food at the park.” Jean pointed out.

“That’s true,” Marco agreed, his laughter fading into a smile. Jean’s nerves were already dissipating, but the sight of Marco’s smile still made his heart tighten. Every time he looked at his smile, he was acutely aware that he was, ultimately, looking at his lips. Jean tried not to stare too much, with considerable difficulty. “How was your dinner with them the other day, by the way?”

Jean’s face flushed as the word _lover boy_ sprang instantly to mind. “It was fun. Sasha said that she’d like to meet you.”

Marco’s face brightened, more than was seemingly possible thanks to the lack of decent lighting. “Really? That’s great. I’d like to meet her too.”

Jean smiled, though he couldn’t possibly fathom the embarrassment he would most likely have to endure with both Sasha and Marco in the same room as him. At the same time, he couldn’t wait for his two worlds to collide, no matter how many mortifying stories Sasha and Connie could manage to whip up about him that he had long forgotten about. Even though he hadn’t known Marco for long in the grand scheme of things, he was sure that he wanted him to be a permanent fixture in his life from now on, he didn’t want to think about the possibility of it being only temporary.

-

When they were well into their meal, Jean said, “I’ve been listening to more of that Sufjan Stevens guy. I think he’s becoming one of my favourites. Like, ever.”

Marco smiled wide, his teeth on full show. He had a piece of food stuck on his tooth, and normally Jean would have made fun of this, but somehow instead he found it endearing. “I’m so glad you like him! He’s one of my favourites.”

“Maybe it’ll be your music we’ll be listening to soon,” said Jean. He could easily see Marco recording music and having it touch people in ways they hadn't expected. Even though he had heard Marco sing only once, he immediately noticed that there was a special something in his voice that he wanted to hear more of, and that the world deserved to hear.

“I don’t know about that,” Marco replied, looking a little flustered. His hair was just short enough for Jean to notice that the tips of his ears were a shade pinker that the rest of them. “I’d like to get my music out there, maybe someday. I don’t think it’ll ever happen, though.”

The sadness in Marco’s voice felt like a serrated knife in Jean’s ribcage. “I think it will. Marco Bodt is the next biggest name in music, mark my words.”

Marco laughed, his expression changing fast from down to amused. “What are you, my manager?”

“Every good artist needs one.” Jean shrugged, laughing too.

The conversation bounced from music to books to the current state of the world and somehow ended up with Jean reluctantly telling the story of how he once fell over in front of his entire school.

Marco was creasing with laughter as Jean struggled to reclaim any self-respect he had left.

“My leg was dead! I couldn’t move it!” Marco only laughed harder; a few snorts here and there. “Sitting cross-legged for extended periods of time is bullshit and everyone knows it.”

Almost out of breath, Marco countered: “Yeah, but most people swap their legs over after a while.”

“Well, fuck,” said Jean, “That’s how to do it.”

The waiter arrived with their bill. The time had passed so quickly that Jean barely felt like he had just eaten both a main meal and a dessert, though the fullness of his stomach would beg to differ.

After splitting the bill, Marco turned to Jean. “Want to come over to my place? We can drop the flowers back at yours first.”

That was exactly what they did. After placing Jean’s flowers in a vase of water and giving the place some much-needed colour, they headed to the bus stop.

Jean had never been on this bus route before. He hadn’t even realised how little of the city he lived in he had seen until now. Not long after, he came to another realisation. He wanted to see the rest of it with Marco.

On the bus, Marco pointed out little things that Jean was sure no one else would even bother taking a second glance at. He was sure that he wouldn’t have if he had been alone.

“That building over there” - he pointed at a run-down building with boarded up windows - “used to be a sweet shop. I loved it when I was a kid.” Marco’s face was lit up with a smile as his eyes darted from place to place in search of another memory. “Oh! I fell off my bike around that corner. There was a kid crying and I wanted to ask them what was up. I went too fast and nearly broke my arm. I was 9.”

Hearing snippets of Marco’s childhood allowed Jean to carefully put the puzzle pieces together and see how he became the kind and loving person he was today. He saw how much Marco cared for people, whether he knew them or not. It was something that Jean was growing to admire; he had heard from Connie and Sasha countless times that he needed to show a little more sympathy. Marco did it so naturally, he wasn’t sure how he did it.

When they reached their stop, Jean realised he had barely said a word; he had listened to Marco’s stories without wanting to interrupt. Marco seemed happy enough to delve into a few of his memories, and Jean was more than happy to listen to them.

“Home sweet home.” Marco turned the key to his apartment and swung open the door.

Jean looked around; objectively, it looked a little messy, but it was lived in. Something he couldn’t really say about his own apartment, no matter how hard he tried to make it a home. He would much rather be at someone else’s. “Is Etta here?”

“No, she’s at a friend’s. I wasn’t sure how long we’d be. Would you like a drink or something?”

“Hmm. Water, please.”

“Coming right up,” said Marco, accompanied by finger guns and a wink. Jean smiled at his childishness.

Jean glanced around the conjoined kitchen and living room some more and spotted Marco’s guitar case sitting in the corner, he assumed that the guitar was inside. It was strange to think that only a month ago, Jean had never even met Marco. If he hadn’t gotten a job in that building, if Marco hadn’t decided to busk by that flowerbed, if he hadn’t wanted to get some fresh air during his lunch break, he wouldn’t be standing here right now. What would he be doing? Probably not feeling this happy.

“Taking a gander at my guitar, are we?” Marco appeared next to him with his hand outstretched and a glass of icy water in his hand.

Jean took the glass, his fingers tingling a little at the sudden cold. “Thanks. I guess you could say that.”

Marco grinned, then began to unzip the guitar case. “Then I guess you could say I feel like playing a song for you. Again.”

Jean’s face was a furnace. Marco took out the guitar and lead Jean to the sofa. “What did I do to deserve this?” Jean asked.

“You know, being you.” Marco shrugged as if the answer was obvious.

Jean didn’t think his face could get any warmer.

“I thought I’d do something by our friend Sufjan since you liked him so much.”

A smile broke out on Jean’s face. “How thoughtful of you.”

“I haven’t had a chance to practice this one much, so it might be a little rusty…” Marco trailed off as he began to pluck at the guitar strings, playing the first few notes.

As Marco began to sing the lyrics, Jean was transported back to the first time he had heard Marco’s voice. Except this time there were no crowds of people rushing by with their obtrusive conversations, no echoes of car engines from just around the corner, nothing. There was nothing else apart from him and Marco. Marco’s sofa was a lot more comfortable to sit on than the street floor as well, he had to note. One thing was the same, however; Marco’s voice sent a ripple of calming warmth through him. Initially, as he heard the first twang of the guitar strings, he wasn’t sure what to do. He shuffled his legs and hands and fiddled with a bit of loose string on his sleeve. Where should he look?

Then, as soon as Marco began to sing, he relaxed. He could easily fall asleep to the softness of his voice, but he didn’t want to because that would mean missing out on hearing the rest. Jean looked at Marco, like he had on that first day. Marco’s head hung low, and his eyes were closed. His fingers stroked the strings with only just enough force to create a sound. His left foot was tapping the floor along with the beat; Jean was pretty sure that Marco wasn’t even aware he was doing it. His voice was quiet, but noticeably gone when he stopped to breathe.

 

Marco was completely in his element, oblivious to the world around him, and Jean had never seen anything more beautiful. A part of Marco’s fringe fell into his face, and Jean instantly wanted to push it back so that he wouldn’t have to stop to move it himself. Instinctively, he lifted his hand. When he realised what he was doing, he put it back down onto his knee instantly. He wanted to be able to do that with Marco; careful, soft touches without thinking twice, maybe not even once. They weren’t even close to being there yet, but he couldn’t wait to be.

“We were in love, we were in love…”

This song was on the record Marco had lent him and he had listened to it, and the others, a numerous amount of times, but hearing the lyrics come from Marco, in his voice and drenched in his emotions, was something else altogether. Jean wondered if Marco could relate directly to the lyrics he was singing to him, if he had been in love like that before. He probably had been. He was open with his heart as far as Jean could tell; forget the key, it didn’t even have a lock. If he had been in love before that also meant Marco had been hurt before, too. What kind of absolute shit person did you have to be to hurt someone like Marco?

Even if Marco had been hurt before, he was willing to try with Jean. He was offering his heart to Jean even if it was a little bruised; that was the most important thing. And Jean couldn’t say no. He wanted to protect it, even if he wasn’t so sure how.

Marco’s voice faded and the sound of the guitar stopped. Silence filled the room until only the whirring of appliances could be heard. Marco looked up at Jean, who was still gazing at him, his lips parted slightly. He looked more vulnerable than Jean had ever seen him, undoubtedly waiting for him to say something.

“Sufjan’s got nothing on you,” said Jean, breathless. He didn’t take his eyes off Marco.

Marco shook his head. “I can’t even compare.”

“Yeah, because you’re on another level.” Jean found it hard to believe that Marco couldn’t see the talent that came out of him when he performed.

“I told you before,” Marco reminded him, smiling, “flattery gets you nowhere.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” said Jean matter-of-factly. “I wish I could play like you.”

Marco sat up quickly; his wide eyes and excited smile giving away the fact that he had just had an idea. “I can teach you.”

“I’m not sure about that…” Jean rubbed the back of his neck, playing off the idea with a laugh

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” Marco gave him a look that Jean was just unable to refuse. He knew Connie would take the piss out of him if he knew how weak Marco’s pout and big brown eyes made him.

Jean sighed. “Fine. I’m going to be pretty shit though, just warning you.”

“I _am_  a professional, you know.” Marco beamed. “Okay, let me give you this.” Marco handed Jean the guitar.

Jean didn’t know what to do with it. He thought of how he had seen Marco hold it, and tried to imitate the pose. It felt awkward in his arms and way too big. Marco made it look so easy. Jean looked at Marco. “Like this?”

Marco considered him for a moment, then shook his head. “Let me adjust it for you.” He leant closer and shifted the thinner end of the guitar (Jean had no clue what the technical terms were) further up his arm. Marco’s hand lightly brushed against Jean’s bare arm and Jean almost shivered at his touch. “That’s better,” said Marco.

Jean looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Do I look like a rock star yet?”

Marco laughed into his hand, “Wrong kind of guitar for that, I’m afraid.”

“Damn,” said Jean, “What now?”

Sticking his tongue out to the side of his mouth in concentration, Marco took a hold of Jean’s hand that was hovering over the strings. As soon as their hands touched, Jean blinked a few times in quick succession. Marco moved his hand until it was resting in a more comfortable position than it was before, and let go. Jean would have happily stayed like that for longer. “You should be able to reach all the strings easier now.”

Jean swallowed and nodded, then ran his fingers across the strings in what he thought was the same way he had seen Marco do earlier. The sound that was produced, however, was nowhere near the same.

Marco laughed again. “It’s not just the bit at the bottom you have to worry about, the top of the strings matter just as much. Otherwise, it just sounds off.”

“You’re the expert.” Jean conceded. Whilst Marco explained to him the different notes and the other intricacies of the strings, Jean had tunnel vision on where Marco’s fingers touched his own. Marco would gently move his fingers into the right place if he missed a note, or move his entire arm into a better position if his posture slipped and Jean would feel his face explode with heat, as he if wasn’t red-faced already.

-

With Marco’s help, Jean was able to play a few notes in tune. This did _not_ /mean he was able to play an actual tune, however; his rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, which Marco usually taught to his youngest students, was not the most pleasant sound either of them had ever heard.

“Well, that was something,” said Marco, doing his best to avoid hurting Jean’s feelings.

Jean put down the guitar. “That something was awful.”

Laughing, Marco replied: “I’m glad you said it, not me.”

“We were both thinking it. Not that you’re a bad teacher, I just have absolutely no rhythm at all.”

“We both tried our best.” Marco smiled. Truthfully, he was thinking more about how warm Jean had felt under his fingertips. At the time, he hadn’t realised how much touching it would involve. He had tried to play it off and act casually; he’d taught lots of people in the same way before, but he wasn’t convinced he pulled it off. There was a rather high chance his easily-flushed face had betrayed him without his knowledge. At times, he may have been a little touchier than he needed to be, if he really thought about it.

Marco looked at Jean. Jean was looking back at him. Even in the dingy light in his apartment, Jean’s face transfixed Marco. His sharp features were softened a little by the yellow light, though the outline was still there. By now, Marco was completely sure that the man behind those features was nowhere near as sharp and cutting as he might come across to be.

Yes, if you only took a brief glance at his outward manner, you would think him arrogant or an asshole, but that wasn’t him at all, not even close. He thought more deeply about things that most people Marco knew would, and when he talked about his best friends, Marco saw something in him that reminded him of how he felt about Etta. Getting to know Jean, despite his odd choice of haircut, was possibly one of the best decisions Marco had ever made. Looking at him now, Marco got the feeling that he wanted to spend the rest of his nights, mornings, afternoons and everything else in between like this. With Jean, laughing and talking, safe and comfortable.

Marco’s eyes drifted to Jean’s lips. Marco desperately wanted to kiss him. Was it too soon? The moment felt right. He didn’t want it to slip out of his grasp. Marco inched closer to Jean until their hands were millimetres apart, fingers almost touching. Jean was still looking at him, but he didn’t back away. Marco swallowed, then brought his lips to Jean’s. It was slightly awkward since they were sitting parallel on the sofa and they both had to crane their necks, but that didn’t stop Marco’s heart, and his veins as well, from feeling like they were going to burst right out of him. Jean kissed him back. His lips were soft, slightly chapped, and warm. His kiss was firm, and he broke away sooner than Marco would have liked. They stayed like that for a few moments, their noses almost touching.

“Was that okay?” Marco whispered.

“It was way more than okay,” Jean replied.

Before Marco could even conjure the thought that he wanted to kiss him again, Jean was closing the very little distance left between them once more. This time, it was even better. There were no nerves, no uncertainties of whether this was what Jean wanted too, only the two of them wanting each other, wanting their lips and hands and bodies on each other.

After bringing their legs onto the sofa so they could face each other easier, Jean placed his hands on Marco’s hips to bring him closer until Marco was laying on him, their mouths not leaving each other's all the while. Marco placed his hand on the side of Jean’s face and ran his fingers down the lines of his cheekbone. The lack of oxygen in his lungs was overtaking his need to kiss Jean, so he pulled away momentarily. On the return, Marco missed Jean’s mouth and ended up planting a kiss on his chin instead. He decided to go with it. Marco shuffled further down, his extra few inches of height on Jean not doing him any favours, and placed what he intended to be tender kisses on the underside of Jean’s chin and neck. Jean whimpered a little, his hands still firmly on Marco’s waist. Marco smiled mid-kiss at the sound, then moved back to where he was before. He wanted to see Jean’s face again.

Marco beamed down at him, breathless. Jean’s cheeks were pink and darkening by the second, a smile on his face as well. Marco kissed him again, not wanting to waste a single second, though he found it rather difficult to pucker his lips with his mouth stretched wide in a smile. In the end, they were simply pressing their smiles together. Marco put his hand in Jean’s hair in an attempt to pull him closer, even though they were already as close as physically possible for to people to be.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” Jean whispered, his breath on Marco’s face making him shiver.

Marco rubbed their noses together, then kissed him on the lips again. “Me too.”

Unexpectedly, Jean slipped out from underneath him and Marco suddenly found himself beneath Jean. Jean’s body was pressed on top of him, and now Jean was trailing kisses down  _his_  neck. His lips were soft and cool on his newly clammy skin. Jean’s kisses became more forceful, and Marco knew he would have to wear a high collared shirt tomorrow. Not that he minded in the slightest. He put both his hands on the sides of Jean’s face and rubbed his thumbs across his temples as he continued to plant kisses on every inch of skin he could see. Marco was beginning to resent the existence of his shirt.

Reluctantly, he took his hands from Jean’s face and tugged at the bottom of his shirt. Jean leant back and took off his own, almost losing his balance on the sofa that was quickly growing too small for the two of them. Marco pecked Jean on the cheek, grabbed Jean’s hand as he slid out from beneath his weight and silently lead him to his bedroom, where sleeping was the last thing on either of their minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the falling over in front of the whole school thing is from my personal experience rip..........
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://sugakoush.tumblr.com)


	7. morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean ended up staying the night at Marco's, and spends the rest of the next day there too. (He can't get enough, who knew.)

Marco had not planned for Jean to stay the night, yet there he was, sleeping on him in his bed. Jean’s head rested on his shoulder with his hand on his chest and his eyes closed. With his arm around him, Marco gently stroked his thumb across Jean’s upper arm. Content, he placed a kiss on Jean’s forehead and slipped into sleep.

-

Jean woke and rubbed his eyes, feeling a little groggy. He forced his eyelids, slick with sleep, apart and glanced around the room that was distinctly _not_  his own. The events of the night before rushed back to him and he was left wondering why the space in the bed beside him was empty. Seconds later, he was thankful that Marco was not around to have to endure the state of his morning breath. He yanked on the pair of underwear that he had discarded on the floor; he didn’t exactly have anything else with him that he could wear. Just as he was about to make his way into the kitchen, he noticed a t-shirt laid out on one of the chest of drawers with a note on top of it.

> _You can borrow this if you want. I figured you wouldn’t have any spare clothes with you :)_
> 
> _Guitarboy_

Jean put on the t-shirt with a smile forming. He had already accepted that he would have to resort to finding his shirt from yesterday in the living room, but Marco always thought about the little things, even when he didn’t have to. Feeling slightly more put together all thanks to Marco, Jean went into the kitchen.

Marco was stood by the hob in a t-shirt and boxers, frying what looked like eggs and bacon. He was humming along to a song playing low on the radio with his back to Jean. Pushing his nerves as far away as he could, Jean silently walked up behind him and slipped his hands around Marco’s waist and rested his chin on Marco’s shoulder. He never liked being shorter than people, especially those he was seeing, but he supposed he could make an exception for Marco.

“Good morning,” Jean mumbled, his voice raspy and heavy from lack of use.

Marco giggled and Jean felt the reverberations across his body in his arms. “Morning sleepyhead. I tried to wake you before but you were out of it.”

“Mmm. Sorry.” Jean was getting sleepy again. His comfortable position on Marco’s shoulder was enough to make him want to fall asleep right there, except the aroma of breakfast cooking made his stomach growl and his mouth water.

“It’s okay. Are you gonna stay there the whole time I make breakfast?” Marco asked. He was struggling to reach the pan furthest away from him with Jean wrapped tightly around him.

Jean pressed a kiss to Marco’s neck. “I guess I’ll let you go.”

He didn’t show any signs of moving. He breathed in Marco’s natural scent. Usually, it was masked by a cologne. It wasn’t a bad thing, Marco had good taste in cologne, but this was authentic Marco, and there was nothing better than that.

“Jean?” Marco strained to reach the spatula he had mistakenly left just out of hand’s reach.

“Yeah?”

“Thought you were gonna let me go.”

Jean sighed and released his grip on Marco. Marco turned to face him. His smile reached his eyes just as much as his blush reached the tips of his ears. Jean still couldn’t get over how goddamn adorable he was. Before he could reattach himself again, Jean said: “Could I use your shower? Please?”

Marco kissed him on the mouth. It was only a peck and left Jean wanting more. “Of course. You remember where the bathroom is? There should be a towel in there you can use as well.”

Jean nodded and reluctantly left Marco behind to use the shower.

It was the quickest shower he had ever had in his life. He rinsed thoroughly and left no time to ponder on the meaning of human existence. He could do that anything other time in the shower. What was waiting for him on the other side of the shower was much more appealing than sending himself into a premature existential crisis, which he often found himself doing when he stayed in the shower too long.

When he returned to the kitchen, he was itching to see Marco again even though it had only been a maximum of 7 minutes since he last laid eyes on him. How was he going to survive at work tomorrow? He had no fucking idea.

“Hey, you,” Marco said as Jean emerged from the bathroom door. He had piled two plates with bacon and eggs and was placing them on the table. “What do you want to drink? Coffee, juice, something else?”

Jean was a little tongue tied as he sat down at the counter in front of one of the plates. “Umm. Juice, please?”

“Coming right up.” Marco smiled and pulled a carton of juice out of the fridge, poured some into a glass and set it down in front of Jean, then sat opposite him.

“This looks amazing,” said Jean, “Do you normally do this?”

“Only on the weekends.” Marco took a bite of bacon. “I hope you like it crispy.”

Jean followed suit and tried the bacon. “As good as it looks. Where do your talents end, guitarboy?”

Marco rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. 

After they finished eating, they piled the dishes by the sink.

“I’ll wash up, it’s no problem,” Jean insisted.

Marco wouldn’t take no for an answer. “You’re the guest, I can’t let you do that.”

“Honestly, Marco, you made a great breakfast, please just let me wash up.”

“Fine. But only if I dry up.” He finally conceded, though he didn’t look particularly happy about it. Marco gave Jean a _look_ /, and Jean knew instantly that that exact look would make him sway his arguments many times down the line. And he didn’t mind at all.

As Jean was just getting started washing up, Marco glanced at the clock on the wall. “Etta should be getting home soon.”

Jean’s head shot up. “Should I go before she gets here?”

 “No, it’s fine. I was just thinking aloud. I thought that maybe we could all do something together today,” Marco replied calmly.

Jean remembered the intensity of Etta’s glare from the record store a few weeks ago. He gulped. “That would be nice.” 

“If you don’t want to, you can just say – I know it might be a bit too soon –” Marco bit his bottom lip and ran a hand through his hair. He sounded a little frantic.

“Hey, no. I do want to.” Jean put his hand on Marco’s arm without thinking. Soap suds dripped onto Marco and onto the floor. “Shit! Sorry!” He quickly put his hand back over the sink, leaving another trail of bubbles in his wake.

Marco started laughing, hard. “Look what you’ve done!” He shook his arm at Jean, spreading the mess onto his shirt as well.

“Hey! It was an accident!”

Marco reached into the sink to scoop up more bubbles and Jean skidded out of the way to avoid the hit.

It was futile. Soapy bubbles landed in Jean’s freshly washed hair and dripped down onto his t-shirt.

“You’re the one that’s going to have to wash this shirt, you know,” Jean pointed out. He blew the bubbles on his hands towards Marco, who giggled when they touched his nose.

Mid-laugh, Marco wiped his nose and said: “Oh well.”

Jean looked back down at the sink. “There’s nothing left to wash the dishes in now, thanks to you.”

Marco shrugged, still smiling and covered in soap suds. Jean leaned over to kiss him; it felt like it had been too long.

“Eugh! You taste like washing up liquid.” Jean pulled a face and ran his teeth over his tongue, desperate to be rid of the putrid taste of soap.

The door swung open and Etta came hurrying in through the door. She let her bags fall to the floor without looking where they landed. “Marco I’m back - oh, sorry - am I interrupting something?”

Jean didn’t know what to say, stood there in his underwear and her brother’s t-shirt. He meekly waved a bubbly hand at her, then immediately turned back to scrub at a stubbornly grimy pan. Luckily, Marco was much more composed than Jean.

“No, we were just washing up the breakfast stuff. How was last night?”

“It was good. I wasn’t aware you were having a sleepover too.”

Jean scrubbed viciously at the pan.

Marco laughed. Jean imagined that the corners of his eye were crinkling, even though he couldn’t see to say if that were true or not. “It was a last-minute thing. Wasn’t it, Jean?”

An elbow protruded into Jean’s ribs. He turned around to face Etta. Her face was just as stone cold and probing as he remembered. “Oh, yeah.” He looked back at the pan; there wasn’t much else he could scrub at, and it was the last dish. He took it out of the bowl and placed it on the side, then wiped his hands on the tea towel Marco handed to him. With reluctance, he twisted his body so that he was leaning against the counter with Etta straight ahead, her stare harsh and on him.

Logically, he knew that Etta couldn’t be that bad. She was just looking out for her brother, as she should, even if she was a little intense about it. Marco loved her, and Jean hope he would grow to see what he saw in her too. Maybe today would be the first step towards that.

“Jean and I thought it would be nice if we all hung out today. What do you think, Etta?” Marco asked. His hand drifted down Jean’s arm until he found his hand where he firmly clasped it, though their hands were still a little damp from the soap fiasco. Jean intertwined their fingers. Etta’s gaze fell onto their joined hands, her face unreadable.

“That’s cool.”

Marco beamed. “Great! I’m going to get dressed.” He let go of Jean’s hand. Jean let his hand fall back to his side. He watched Marco stroll into his bedroom, feeling the level of uncomfortable awkwardness rise with every step he took away from him and Etta. When he was gone, Etta appeared at Jean’s side and grabbed his arm, much more forceful than Marco had.

“You better be serious about him.” Her voice was stern, and the look in her eyes was even sterner.

“I am,” Jean replied weakly. He cleared his throat. “I am.”

“Good. Because he’s serious about you.” She let go of his arm. “Shouldn’t you go pick up your jeans, Jean?” She gestured to his trousers by the sofa.

Jean’s face burned for more reasons than one. A nervous laugh escaped his lips. “Yeah…” He slinked out from beneath her gaze, quickly grabbed his trousers from the sofa, and walked as briskly as he could into Marco’s room without sprinting. Once there, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Marco gave him a quizzical look. “Is everything okay?” 

“Your sister is a little… intimidating,” Jean replied; he felt as if he had narrowly escaped with his life. He put on his trousers and leant on the wall to stop himself from stumbling.

“She can be like that sometimes.” Marco gave him a sympathetic look. “I’ll talk to her, see if I can get her to go easy on you.”

“I get why she’s like that, though. It’s kind of sweet, in a roundabout way.”

Marco laughed. “That’s Etta all right. Still want to hang out with her today?”

Jean hastily hid the pained look on his face. “I’m a brave man, Marco.”

“Of course you are,” said Marco, his smile showing no signs of leaving his face. He walked over to Jean and put his hands on either side of his face, rubbing his thumbs over the tips of his ears. Jean looked up at him and felt his heartbeat grow erratic in his chest. Marco’s eyes were full of something that Jean wasn’t quite used to yet, something that he was just beginning to recognise. Marco’s hands fell to his shoulders, whilst Jean’s eyes fell to his lips. “Ready?”

Jean nodded, though he would have much rather stayed where it was only the two of them, for even just a moment longer. Marco removed his hands from Jean. Jean immediately missed the pressure, the feeling, the warmth. Marco smiled at him and took hold of his hand as he opened the door with his free one. Jean wished he’d kissed him one more time.

“What are your plans for today, then?” Etta called from the sofa. Jean was certain she had sensors for ears.

Marco led Jean to the sofa and squeezed his hand as they sat down next to Etta, Marco in the middle. They were a little squashed together, it was a two-seater after all, but Jean didn’t mind being so close to Marco.

“Not much, really. We can watch movies and chill, something like that,” said Marco.

“Chill isn’t a cool word anymore, Marco.” Etta sounded pained. Jean couldn’t help but laugh.

“Hey! Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?” Marco looked at Jean as he laughed, his bottom lip protruding in a pout.

“She’s right, though.”

“I hate both of you. Chill is still cool. I’m still cool.”

Jean bit his lip to hold back a laugh. Marco was many, many things, but he wasn’t sure if he was _cool._

Looking at Marco’s mouth, Jean could tell he was doing his best not to laugh too. His face was twitching with the effort not to smile or let a single burst of laughter escape. His lips turned up at the edges, then Marco would force them back down again with little success. It was all Jean could do to keep his own mouth away from his.

“I’m sorry Marco, but I think your cool days are over.” A laugh slipped through as Jean spoke. He leant his head on Marco’s shoulder in a way of apology.

“He’s right,” said Etta. Jean was a little shocked that she had agreed with him.

“Anyway…” Marco drew out the word. “What movie shall we watch first? Jean?”

Marco left the sofa, much to Jean’s dismay, to turn on the TV and grab the selection remote controls that were lying on the coffee table. Even though Marco was only gone for a maximum of 20 seconds, Jean missed where their legs touched. Remote controls in hand and the TV switched on, Marco returned to the space barely big enough for one person that he somehow managed to fit in. Jean wanted to rest his hand on Marco’s thigh, hold his hand, _something_. He felt self-conscious with Etta around. How much was too much?

Jean’s hand lay flat against his own leg, palm facing upwards, as he debated whether to go for it or not. Then, Marco’s hand reached across and laced itself into Jean’s. When Jean looked up to Marco, he was looking directly at the TV, as if he had taken Jean’s hand without even thinking. Jean’s attempts to slow down the beating of his heart were not even close to succeeding. He liked this angle of Marco, seeing him from the side. When they had been laying in bed together, before sleeping, Jean had looked at him like this. Though he was barely a few inches shorter than Marco, (Jean was adamant it was less than that), he felt smaller from this angle. Not in a bad way; he felt protected. Looking at the outline of Marco’s jaw, his freckled cheeks and soft eyes, he wanted to protect Marco too. He didn’t really have a clue what Marco had endured, but he didn’t want him to have to endure anything else.

“Any suggestions?” said Marco as he scanned through the list of movies on the screen.

“Something… fun,” Jean replied.

“I was hoping for something a little bit more specific,” Marco teased, “How about a Disney movie? I love those.”

“I haven’t watched one of those in years,” said Jean, though he wasn’t opposed to the idea.

Marco’s hand jerked in his own. “What?! How can you live? That’s it. We’re watching _The Incredibles_. I know it’s Pixar, technically, but whatever.” Marco shook his head and muttered something under his breath that Jean didn’t quite catch.

“I think I’ve seen that. Maybe once.” Jean vaguely remembered a baby being set on fire. How was this a kid’s movie?

Etta leaned forward, hand pressed onto the coffee table, her head poised towards Jean. “Once? How can you have only seen this masterpiece ONCE?”

Marco nodded in agreement. “We’ll have to change that.”

“I’ll decide if it’s worthy of its masterpiece title once we’ve watched it.”

Marco pressed play, and the so-called masterpiece began.

When the movie had finished, Jean had to agree it was good, but he wasn’t sure about _masterpiece_. He kept the last thing to himself, not willing to let himself in for the wrath of both Marco and Etta.

Etta said she had some last-minute homework she had forgotten about to finish off, and slinked off into her bedroom. Jean was beginning to warm to her, though he was still wary of her bite. This left Jean and Marco in the living room, talking, with mindless TV on in the background. Marco lay with his head on Jean’s lap, Jean gently running his fingers through his hair.

“This is the best weekend I’ve had in a long time,” Jean whispered. He initially meant to say it to himself, to remind himself that it had been _real_ , but he wanted Marco to know it too.

“Me too,” said Marco, his voice quiet. “Being with you - It’s helped me to forget about… stuff.”

Jean pulled an inquisitive look even though Marco couldn’t see it.

“You’re probably wondering why Etta doesn’t live with our parents, right?”

Jean had wondered, but he thought it would be impolite to ask. “I didn’t want to pry.”

Marco smiled. “You really are nice, Jean. I like it. You should show it more.”

“I can’t promise anything.”

“Fair enough. Well, anyway. Our parents - they’re gone. When I was 19 - they’re gone. I’m all Etta has left now.”

Jean’s heart ached for Marco. He wanted to reach down and take hold of his hand, but it was too far away. Instead, he said: “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to get all sad on you. I just wanted to thank you. It’s hard to get out much when I have work and Etta.”

“I lost my dad too,” Jean said. “Another thing we have in common, eh?”

“Didn’t expect to be bonding over tragic backstories this afternoon.” There was a hint of a laugh behind Marco’s voice.

“We’re just so wild. Never know what’s going to happen.”

Marco laughed, a full laugh. His eyes closed with the force of it. “God, I really like you, Jean. Really, really.”

Jean’s fingers stopped making a mess of Marco’s hair. His heart in his mouth, like he would throw it up at any second, he replied: “I really really like you too, Marco.”

“I know we’ve only been seeing each other a few weeks but -” Marco paused and bit his lip. He sat up and faced Jean. “Do you want to, maybe, make things, um?”

“Official?” Jean finished for him, unable to control his grin.

“Yeah.” Marco smiled sheepishly back, his entire face pink.

Jean slid his hand to the back of Marco’s neck, pulling him closer, and kissed him.

Marco pulled away mid-kiss, “Is that a yes?” Their lips brushed when he talked.

“Yea-” Jean could barely finish his reply before Marco was kissing him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the incredibles IS a masterpiece and i will fight anyone who says otherwise
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://sugakoush.tumblr.com)


	8. missing you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life likes to get in the way of things; Marco finds that it tends to do it more when he is infatuated.

Jean left that evening after spending almost a full weekend with Marco. Now that he was gone, and it was just Marco and Etta in the apartment again, Marco was antsy. He couldn’t stay still. He hadn’t planned to ask Jean to be his _boyfriend_  at all, not in the slightest. But now that he had, in his moment of possible lunacy, and that Jean had said yes, he couldn’t feel happier. His smile hadn’t left his face since he asked the question. Well, half asked it. He lay on the sofa in disbelief, his hands covering his eyes.

“What are you so happy about?” Etta peered over the top of the sofa, staring down at Marco’s beaming face. Her face had a knowing look as if she already knew what Marco was going to say.

“Um, well…” Marco found it difficult to get the words out. His cheeks flared with heat as he thought about how best to say it. Best to say it out right. “Jean -”

“Is your boyfriend now? Is that it?” Etta put her chin in her hands, she was smiling now too.

“Well, yes,” replied Marco, avoiding her gaze. He bit his lip; he definitely wasn’t used to the word boyfriend. Especially not in relation to Jean.

Etta’s eyes widened and she let out a small squeal. “That’s great! I’m so happy for you.”

Having Etta’s approval wasn’t just something Marco simply wanted, he _needed_  it. Knowing that she was happy for him was enough to make his chest feel light and warm. “I wasn’t sure how much you liked him - He’s a little scared of you, you know.” Jean would not be pleased that Marco had told her that.

“I was sceptical at first, but he seems good,” Etta said simply, “He said he’s serious about you, so that’s fine with me.”

“He said that?” Marco raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t questioning Etta’s credibility, but it seemed unlike Jean to spill his feelings to someone he didn’t know well. After thinking about it for a few more seconds, Marco realised Jean probably hadn’t volunteered that information, knowing his sister.

“Yeah. So, who asked who? I bet it was you, you’re so impatient.”

Marco rolled his eyes at her. “Shush. You’re right though. As usual.”

Etta crossed her arms, looking smug. “Of course I am.”

“Shouldn’t you be going to bed soon? You’ve got school tomorrow.”

“Maybe so. Aren’t you going to tell your boyfriend goodnight?” Etta teased. She poked Marco in the ribs and he shoved her hand away with a laugh.

“None of your business. Go get some beauty sleep.” She was right again, Marco had every intention to text Jean goodnight. Hopefully, he wouldn’t come across as too mushy, though he wasn’t sure how to avoid that. Being mushy was in his nature, after all. Jean would have to learn to love it.

Etta raised her hands up in surrender. “Fine, I’m going. Tell your boyfriend goodnight from me.”

Marco lightly pushed her away; he could barely muster any force from this angle. “Goooo.”

Etta smirked and left Marco alone on the sofa once again, where the word _boyfriend_  played over and over again in his mind. With this many jitters and nauseating butterflies, he was pretty convinced that he had reverted back to his teenage self again. Remembering the sensation of Jean, his lips, on him, sent shivers up and down his body. He wanted them on his neck again, on his shoulders, on his cheeks, on his lips. How long would it be until he felt that again? He was already reeling from the significant lack of Jean in his presence.

It was getting late, so Marco pulled himself up from the sofa and cleaned up in the bathroom, then headed straight for his bedroom. The bed was much too big for one person now. He turned on his side and stared at the empty space where Jean had lain the night before. He imagined Jean laying there, looking at him too. One side of the longer parts of his hair flat against the pillow, the other sticking out in all directions thanks to Marco’s fingers. It was colder, too. Jean’s hot breath was no longer on his face and neck. The heat radiating from his body was nowhere to be found. The only warmth that remained was the pinkness of Marco’s cheeks; somehow Jean managed to elicit that reaction in his without ever being there. Marco cursed himself for being so clingy as he closed his eyes and imagined Jean’s hand cupping his face.

He turned over and closed his eyes. This was no better. Now, he missed Jean’s stomach resting against his back, he missed feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest as it just barely reached him. There were no hands reaching over and taking a hold of his hands. There were no hands in his hands; no knuckles to kiss that were scraped from whatever Jean had gotten himself into, no fingers that interlocked with his. Marco heaved a deep breath and felt the air fill up inside him. He stretched out his arm to his bedside table to grab his phone. Just as his fingers grasped it, it vibrated.

**JEAN:** _Miss you guitarboy. Goodnight, I’ll see you soon_

Marco brought his phone closer to him until it was right up in his face. He reread the message over and over and went over even more replies in his head.

**MARCO:** _Miss u too. It feels weird without u now. Goodnight :)_

He brought the phone to his chest, then placed it back on the table and went to sleep.

-

With Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday full of work for both Jean and Marco, they barely managed a visit to each other and had to survive off texts and rather late phone calls which ended up with one or both of them falling asleep on the line. Even though it was Jean that had to wake up earlier more regularly, it was usually Marco that dropped off at the end of their conversation. He would promise Jean that he was _not_  tired in fact, his yawns meant _nothing_ / and he would definitely be able to stay awake past midnight this time. Not once had this came true. It didn’t help that Jean’s voice was a calm and soothing sound for his ears that at the same time made his eyelids droopy, either.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,” Jean said on the phone on Thursday evening. Marco had missed the sound of his voice, especially when Jean was sleepy, even if he was barely awake long enough to hear it. Texting was great, but it wasn’t enough.

“That’s okay,” Marco reassured him. “Are you free this weekend by any chance?”

“Yeah. By the way, you wanted to meet Connie and Sasha, right? Well, I thought we could do something together this weekend. If it’s too soon, you can just say -”

“I’d love to meet them!” Marco exclaimed. If his phone had a wire, he would have been twirling it. “What did you have planned?”

“Oh, nothing yet. I was thinking dinner, but I do that all the time with them, and I thought maybe we should do something different.”

“You, Jean, want to do something different?” Marco almost laughed. He covered his mouth with his hand to stop it but with little success.

“Shut up, Marco.”

Marco had the feeling that if they were sat next to each other rather than on the phone a mile apart then Jean would have done _something_  that would quiet him down. He smiled at the thought, almost giggling. “Bet you wish you could make me.” He wasn’t quite sure what made him say that; whether it was because he felt increasingly more comfortable around Jean, or because he was feeling a little reckless, he would never know.

On the other end of the phone, Jean took a sharp intake of breath. “That… might be the case.”

Marco ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “Uh huh?”

“You are the worst,” said Jean, though there was no malice in his voice.  “Getting back to the point, I thought we could go to the park you showed me.”

Marco involuntarily raised an eyebrow. “That would be fun. You liked it that much, huh?”

“Yeah, maybe we could have a picnic or something? I don’t know, is that dumb?”

“No, no. I like that idea. We should do that.” In fact, Marco loved that idea. He hadn’t been on a picnic in years, not since he and Etta were kids, and he had always planned to go on one again. Probably in the very same park.

Jean’s sigh of relief was obvious. “Okay, great. I still have to ask Connie and Sasha, although they’ll probably be down the second I mention there’s gonna be food.”

“Surely there’s more to them than food?” Marco said, laughing, though the thought of food was appealing to him right now, too.

“Oh, yeah, there is, definitely. They just like it so much it can be overwhelming at times. Especially Sasha.”

“I have to admit I get a little antsy too when there’s a good pastry around.” 

Jean laughed loudly; Marco was getting more accustomed to the sound as it happened more often. “You’ll get along great then.”

“When are we thinking of having this little get together?” asked Marco before he sent himself into a worry with no mention of times or dates.

“I was hoping for this Sunday but it might be a little late notice. They’re usually quite busy.”

“That’s fine with me. If not, we could always do something together and meet with them next weekend.”

“Okay Mr Rational Plan Man,” Jean teased.

“That’s the lamest nickname ever,” groaned Marco. To tell the truth, he would have endured any lame nickname if it was coming from Jean. He wasn’t going to _willingly_  accept one, though.

Jean laughed again. “I know. I’ll have to hang up to talk to Connie and Sasha about this.”

Marco frowned even though Jean wasn’t there to see it. It felt like they had barely just begun talking, and they hadn’t been able to talk like this in days. He wanted more laughter and more teasing, but more than that, he wanted to feel as though Jean was there with him, even if he wasn’t physically there for him to touch. “Call me back after, please?”

“If they don’t end up talking my ear off I will,” Jean promised. Marco hoped that neither of them was in a particularly talkative mood, but from what he had heard about them, that was extremely unlikely.

“Okay good.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“All right.”

“I’m going.”

“Go through with it, then.” Marco couldn’t stop himself from laughing. He could almost hear Jean rolling his eyes, even though he knew that was impossible.

“Fine, talk to you later, guitarboy.”

Marco liked that nickname infinitely better. He heard the phone click, and Jean was gone. For the time being.

-

Jean was still smiling even after he had hit the “end call” button on his phone. His body felt warm all over as if he had just eaten an insanely spicy meal when in reality he had just spoken to Marco. His boyfriend. He still wasn’t used to that at all, not in the slightest.

He opened his Skype app; he hated Skype, only on the rare occasion did it work correctly and somehow in the year 2017 group phone calls still weren’t a thing. He opened his group chat with Connie and Sasha and called them, mentally preparing himself for whatever nonsense they were going to throw at him today.

It didn’t take long for them to answer.

“Hey. Can you hear me?” Connie’s voice came through his phone along with the sound of his breath; he must have had his face right up to the microphone again. Unfortunately, Jean couldn’t _see_ if he was correct, as Skype was being its usual barely functioning self. 

“I can hear you. Can’t see anything though,” Jean replied. He laid back on his couch. Connie and Sasha had seen him at the worst of times, he didn’t particularly care if they saw him with a double chin. 

“Damn it,” said Connie. “Sasha?”

“I’m here. Also in the dark,” Sasha answered.

“It doesn’t really matter, you only need to hear me.” Jean shrugged. “I just wanted to ask if you two were free this Sunday.”

“Uhhh, I’m pretty sure I am,” said Connie, loud and raspy as his breath hit the microphone.

“Don’t get so close to the microphone!” Sasha almost yelled, “I’m free too.”

There was a muffled moving noise. “I’ll be as close to the microphone as I damn well please.”

Ignoring this little tiff, Jean replied, “Good. You still want to meet Marco, right?”

“Is that even a question?! Yes, Jean!” Sasha was definitely yelling this time.

Jean smiled and sunk further into his sofa. “Well then, you’re going to have a picnic with us on Sunday.”

“There’s an ‘us’ now?” Connie pestered, if Skype was working as it was supposed to, Jean was certain he would be seeing some eyebrow wiggling right about now.

“You could say that.” Jean’s face warmed.

“Jeaaan you can’t just say that and not give any details!” Sasha exclaimed. “Did you kiss lover boy yet?”

“Jesus, Sasha, give him a chance to say something before you pounce on him.”

“Sorry.” Sasha lowered her voice. “But did you?”

As his cheeks continued to burn Jean was glad for once that Skype was a piece of shit. “Possibly. Maybe. Yeah.”

Sasha squeal was piercing and Jean cringed as the shrill noise reached his ears. “How was it?”

“Uh, it was… nice.” Marco’s voice echoed in his head telling him, _You’re a journalist and the only word you can come up with is nice?_

“I bet it was a whole lot better than _nice_ , Jean,” replied Sasha. She wasn’t wrong, but Jean couldn’t fathom the words to describe how it had felt, and how he couldn’t wait to do it again.

“Yeah, it was,” Jean said.

“I have to go,” Connie said suddenly, he sounded like he didn’t particularly want to. “Work stuff. I’ll see you guys on Sunday, yeah?”

“And lover boy!” Sasha pointed out. If she let that nickname slip on Sunday, Jean wasn’t sure what he would do.

“Yeah, see you,” Jean answered. Now that it was just him and Sasha with no Connie to hold her back from her probing, Jean braced himself for whatever question was about to come out of her mouth. To his surprise, she remained quiet for a few moments before saying something more.

“If I ever go too far just tell me, okay? I’m just really excited for you.”

Jean smiled. He had already known this was the reasoning behind her incessant questioning, but it was still reassuring to hear it from her directly. “I know.”

“Good. He sounds like a really good guy, I’ll find out if he lives up to my expectations on Sunday.” Jean could tell she was smiling even though he couldn’t see her face.

“I think he will,” Jean said. “Actually, if you don’t mind… he’s kind of waiting for me to call him back.”

“Then what are you doing still talking to me! Go call back lover boy, tell him I can’t wait to meet him.”

“When are you going to drop ‘lover boy’?” Jean joked, though he really did want to know. One the one hand, it was kind of cute, on the other, it was way, way embarrassing. And that outweighed the cute factor. By a lot.

“Never. I’ll be calling him that in front of your grandkids. Now go call him back. Bye, Jean.” Before Jean had the chance to respond, there was a _click_  and the call had ended. If Sasha was anything, she was straight-forward and to the point. The word _grandkids_  was enough to send Jean’s stomach and mind in a spiral. White-haired Marco, still by his side, even after all that time. They could have /years/ together. It was a comforting thought.

After that completely necessary daydream, Jean called Marco again and put his phone next to his ear and listened to the phone ring. It didn’t take long for Marco to answer.

“What did they say?” Marco’s voice was urgent and filled with excitement; something in Jean’s chest quivered

“They’re both free on Sunday. They can’t wait to meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> talk to me on [tumblr](http://sugakoush.tumblr.com) !!!!


	9. sunday afternoons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco finally meets Connie and Sasha.

As twenty-somethings living in the middle of the city, not one out of the four of them had a car. This meant that, yet again, Marco had to get the bus into the centre. Jean felt awful about it. He had even offered to order a taxi to Marco’s place and pick him up that way, but Marco insisted it wasn’t worth the extra cost. It didn’t stop him feeling the guilt form in his chest though; one day, he promised himself, he would pick Marco up properly, so he didn’t have to get that damned bus anymore.

One thing that Jean had stuck to was that he was the sole person in charge of the picnic. He had made the sandwiches, bought the snacks, everything. It had been his idea, and he was the one who was going to execute it. Having bought a hamper especially for the occasion, he was feeling rather confident in himself as he filled it up on Sunday morning. He had arranged to meet Marco at the bus stop, and then meet with Connie and Sasha at the park itself. He checked his phone; it was almost time to leave. With a few moments to spare, he went into the bathroom and checked his appearance in the mirror. He was looking pretty sharp if he said so himself. Crossing his fingers, he hoped that the wind would pity him and decide to not make a mess of his hair today.

When he left his apartment, the picnic hamper firmly on his shoulder, he began a brisk walk to the bus stop. He didn’t want Marco to have to wait there by himself, not when he had already had to take the bus alone already. Luckily, when Jean arrived at the bus stop there was no one there. He took a moment to breathe. He hadn’t seen Marco in almost a full week. He had had a small hope that they would be able to see each other yesterday, if only for a little while, but they had both been busy, leaving no moment to spare.

Jean swallowed hard. His heart was beating furiously and it wasn’t from the pace of his walk here. There was a screech of tyres on pavement as a bus turned around the corner. It was Marco’s bus; Jean recognised the number on the front now.

Jean adjusted the hamper strap on his shoulder as the bus pulled up to the pavement. The doors opened and Marco appeared, a smile set upon his face as usual, lighting up his surroundings. Jean’s heart felt heavy. He’d missed that smile. Marco stepped off the bus, the wind instantly taking refuge in his black hair, sending it every which way. Jean’s probably looked the same, but he didn’t care.

“Long time no see,” said Marco, his voice smooth. As he got closer, Jean felt the same as he had done that first time, before they had kissed.

Attempting to compose himself, Jean replied: “Hey, Marco.”

Marco leaned in to kiss him, making Jean’s stomach jolt. When their lips touched, the muscles in his body relaxed and loosened to fit into this mould around Marco’s body that it was slowly getting used to. Marco slid his arm around Jean’s waist and pulled away from the kiss, leaving Jean’s lips, just like before, wanting more. “That hamper looks heavy, need any help?”

“Um, no, it’s fine. I can handle it.” Jean coughed into his hand.

“Okay, Mr. Muscle.” Marco smiled.

“Hey, nicknames are my thing, guitarboy.”

Marco pecked him on the cheek. “Sharing is caring.”

Walking along with Marco’s arm around his waist and the hamper on his shoulder was more difficult than Jean had anticipated. More than once, he had almost tripped, which, if he had fallen, would have inevitably brought Marco down with him. He didn’t ask him to move his arm away, though. It was worth the risk to feel Marco’s warmth encompass him and for him to occasionally lean down to rest his cheek on Jean’s shoulder. Marco’s hand rested on his waist, and Jean secretly wished his shirt was a little smaller so that it had the chance to ride up, meaning Marco would eventually be touching his bare skin. Unfortunately for Jean, his shirt was a perfect fit.

“What did you bring in the hamper?” Marco asked as they were nearing the park, barely louder than a murmur.

“A bunch of stuff. Sandwiches, snacks, some sweet stuff for you.” Jean listed off the food he had brought in his head.

“Because I’m sweet?” said Marco, wiggling his eyebrows.

Jean rolled his eyes. “To satiate your enormous sweet tooth.”

“Are you sure it’s not both?” Marco bumped their shoulders together.

“It might be,” Jean conceded. The entrance of the park was in view now and he could make out two figures standing near the front gate that he instantly recognised as Connie and Sasha. They appeared to be in a deep conversation that could be more accurately described as a debate by the way that they were inching towards each other with increasing volume.

“Are those your friends?” Marco nodded towards Connie and Sasha, he almost sounded nervous.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, they aren’t always like this.” Jean lifted his free hand in a wave, though he was unsure whether there was any chance he could have grabbed their attention when they were like this. “Connie! Sasha!”

Sasha was the first to turn around. Her mouth was still forming the shape of the word she was about to throw down at Connie. When she saw Jean and Marco, it transformed into a wide smile. “Hey, guys!”

 _Thank God, she didn’t say lover boy_ , thought Jean.

Marco untangled himself from Jean’s waist, much to Jean’s disappointment, and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m Marco.”

Sasha took his hand and shook it eagerly, her smile not moving an inch off her face. “I’m Sasha. Nice to meet you too. I hope Jean’s been treating you good?”

Marco laughed and Jean’s face reddened. “Yes, he has.”

Connie sprang up next to Sasha, his hand also outstretched. “I’m Connie.”

Marco shook his hand too, much less vigorously than Sasha had shaken his. “Nice to finally put faces to the names.”

Connie narrowed his eyes at Jean. “You better have said good things.”

Jean raised an eyebrow at him. “I was honest.”

“Oh, that’s just great,” replied Connie. He turned to Marco. “I promise I’m a lot cooler than he said I was.”

“That’s debatable,” Jean retorted, “Shall we actually go inside instead of standing by the gates all day?”

Marco, Connie and Sasha nodded and followed Jean through the gates into the overwhelming green of the park. There were only a few gravelly footpaths that broke up the natural view, and they steered clear of all of them. Marco was the one who knew this park the best, so he led with Jean close to his side, near enough for their arms to bump into each other as they walked through the cut grass. Connie and Sasha walked alongside them too, though they weren’t quite in such close proximity. Jean vaguely remembered the way to the riverside from their last visit here, but truth be told, he hadn’t been focusing on where he was going at the time.

“Is the river far?” Sasha almost whined. Every time Jean threw a glance at her, she had been eyeing up the hamper.

“No, we’re almost there.” The slight breeze ruffled through Marco’s hair, sending his usual neat middle parting into disarray. Jean watched as a bead of sweat travelled down his neck and slid beneath the collar of his shirt. He gripped the hamper tightly.

“Hope you’ve got a lot of food in there, Jean, I might just eat it all myself otherwise,” said Connie.

“There’s more than enough in there for a person of your size.”

Connie gasped and ran to poke Jean in the ribs. “How dare you!”

“Are they always like this?” Marco asked Sasha, laughing. Jean poked Connie back, the hamper almost slipping off his shoulder in the process.

She shrugged, used to this kind of behaviour. “Usually.”

When they reached the riverside, Connie and Jean were breathless, and Jean’s shoulder was aching. He let the hamper slide to the floor.

“Fuck,” said Jean, staring at the grass. The uneven, dirt-ridden grass.

“What’s wrong?” Marco asked gently.

“Forgot to bring a blanket.”

“Ah,” replied Marco, “It’s fine, a bit of soil won’t kill us.” He smiled at Jean, his blinding smile, and sat down on the grass to prove his point. He shuffled his legs around until he was in a comfortable enough position. “See?”

Connie and Sasha followed suit. Jean tentatively sat down on the grass next to Marco, their knees rested against one another.

“Let’s hope I didn’t forget anything else.” Jean almost winced. Forgetting a blanket wasn’t such a huge deal, he reminded himself. He would just have to deal with possible grass stains later. It could be worse.

Jean dragged the hamper to the middle of their square formation and lifted the lid. Connie, Sasha and Marco all leaned forward and peered inside.

“Looks good,” Marco said. He put his hand on Jean’s shoulder.

Jean took out four paper plates and cups (he had no idea what he would have done if he had forgotten those) and handed them out, keeping one for himself. The sandwiches he had made were stored in Tupperware tubs, so he laid them out on the grass and removed the lids. “Dig in? I guess?”

Sasha immediately grabbed three in a single hand and piled them onto her plate. She ate half of one in one bite. “Didn’t know you were so good with food, Jean.”

“Making sandwiches isn’t hard,” Jean replied and took a sandwich for himself out of the tub.

“They are good, though,” Marco agreed.

Sasha finished her second sandwich. “So, lov-”

Jean’s head snapped up. He glared at her, annoyed that he was just too far out of reach to nudge her. Which was probably a good thing, for Sasha’s sake, anyway.

Sasha coughed. “Marco.” Marco looked at her, seemingly unaware of the exchange that had just happened. She continued, “Tell us about yourself.”

Marco put his sandwich back down on his plate and tilted his head. “What would you like to know?”

“You play guitar, right?” Sasha asked and Marco nodded. “What made you want to learn to play guitar?”

Jean looked down at his sandwich. He didn’t even know that. He still had a lot to learn about Marco Bodt, it seemed. He turned his head to Marco, looking up at him expectantly.

Marco ran his tongue over his lips and bit his bottom lip momentarily. “It was never really a  _want_. My dad introduced me when I was young, so I kept playing.”

Jean could tell he didn’t particularly want to talk about this, not right now. Marco’s hand had fallen to lay on his thigh; Jean took hold of it and squeezed it lightly. “Don’t stop,” he said quietly, he wasn’t sure if anyone heard, but he hoped Marco did.

“Wish I could play an instrument,” mused Connie, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the sky, clear of clouds.

Sasha looked at him. “Yeah, you’d be great at the triangle.”

Connie punched her lightly on the arm. “Hey! I could be the world’s greatest saxophone player if I put my mind to it.”

“Why don’t you?” Marco pressed, he seemed genuinely interested. Jean was relieved the subject had moved on.

“Don’t have the time, I guess,” Connie said, shrugging.

“I’d offer to teach you, but my musical expertise doesn’t include the saxophone.” Marco laughed and Jean felt its reverberations hit him straight in the chest.

Connie pursed his lips together in a thin line. “That’s a damn shame.” He leaned forwards and looked into the hamper. “You got anything else in that thing besides sandwiches?”

After stuffing themselves full of more snacks, cakes, and then the leftover sandwiches, the four of them were stuffed. Jean leaned back on the grass, he felt like his belly had doubled in size. The sky was still a bright blue even though they had been outside for hours and the breeze had died down, leaving a warm air that was just the right temperature.

“Yet another time when I should’ve brought my guitar,” Marco said to Jean. Jean shifted his gaze from the sky above to Marco; he was looking at him with the smile he always gave him. Jean selfishly wished he wouldn’t share it with anyone else, that this was his alone to see.

“You’ll remember it one day,” Jean reassured him. He wouldn’t have minded hearing Marco’s fingers strike the strings right now and maybe listening to his voice go along with the melody too.

Jean heard a ruffling from another direction and looked ahead to see Connie rifling through the bag he had brought with him, and until now had ignored. A few moments later, he pulled his arm out triumphantly. Firmly gripped in his hand was a bright yellow frisbee.

“Anyone up for playing?” Connie grinned; he looked like he could’ve been in a teeth whitening commercial.

Sasha jumped up instantly. “Yes!”

“I am,” said Marco, getting up too. Jean instantly noticed the absence of warmth against his knee.

“Jean?” Connie asked as he was yet to show any signs of moving.

He nodded, though he wasn’t sure it was the  _best_  idea after eating so much. He stood up anyway and followed the three of them to a wider stretch of grass.

They stood in a similar formation to how they had been sat for most of the afternoon, except much further apart. Connie threw the frisbee, aiming for Sasha, and she narrowly avoided it slamming into her forehead. At the last second, she ducked, screaming, and the yellow disc glided straight over her head. Connie groaned as he watched it sail further and further away from him.

“You almost hit me!” Sasha yelled, “Were you even looking at where you were aiming?!”

Whilst Sasha was releasing a novel’s worth of profanities out of her mouth, Marco quickly jogged over to where the frisbee had landed. It wasn’t too far as the wind had faded, and he was soon back in their square. When he was back in position, Marco aimed it towards Jean.

“Do a better job than Connie, please,” Jean shielded his head with his hand.

Marco raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you trust me?”

“That was a one-off mistake!” Connie shouted from the left.

Jean removed his hand from his face. “Hit me. Not literally.”

Marco threw the frisbee. It didn’t have as much speed as Connie’s throw and it was more level with Jean’s chest than his head. Jean reached out and grabbed it easily as it came towards him.

“I have great aim.” Marco grinned, looking pleased with himself.

“Anyone does, compared to Connie,” Jean countered, though he had been impressed with the control. Even he couldn’t usually throw one without it veering off in some other direction.

“I heard that!” Connie groaned again.

“Good throw, lover boy!” Sasha shouted with her hands cupping her mouth.

Jean froze, his cheeks instantly becoming pink. He scratched the back of his neck and tried to focus on something  _other_  than Marco. Which, of course, was entirely impossible.

“Oops, sorry. Jean didn’t want me to call you that.” She shrugged her shoulders with laughter in her eyes. She didn’t look sorry in the slightest.

“Sasha.” Jean looked at her with the intent of a warning, but in the end, there was too much panic in his eyes.

The sound of Marco’s laugh, calming and sweet, warm and comforting, interrupted Jean’s increasingly frantic thoughts. “That’s cute. I think I prefer guitarboy, though.”

Jean laughed too. Laughed, because this was his life now. Sunny Sunday afternoons with the people that meant the most to him in the world. He wasn’t sure if he would tell Marco that yet. He knew he felt it, though.

“Throw the frisbee, Jean!” Connie called. In the corner of his eye, he could see him waving his hands around to grab his attention that was still fixed on Marco. Jean reluctantly tore his gaze from Marco, Marco who fit so well in the sunlight and threw the frisbee at Connie. A little too forcefully. It winded him in the stomach before he had the chance to catch it.

Connie stumbled back and desperately tried to get a hold of the frisbee before it fell to the ground. He managed to wrap his fingers around it just as it knocked against his shin. “Got it!”

“Barely.” Sasha huffed with her arms crossed. When she saw that Connie was aiming again, she spread her legs in a squat and covered her forehead with her arms. Connie rolled his eyes at her and aimed back at Jean.

Jean poised himself, ready to manoeuvre out of the disc’s way at a second’s notice. Connie let the frisbee go on the second swing of his arm, a little earlier than he had planned by the wide-eyed look on his face. It was going fast, a lot faster than Marco’s throw. Jean ran backwards, he still wanted to catch it but didn’t quite fancy getting winded. It showed no signs of slowing. How far was he from the river?

Not very far. He heard a splash and felt wetness soak through his feet and up his legs. The sudden shock of the cold liquid made him falter and stagger backwards until he was sat on his ass, the water flowing around him.

The frisbee hit him smack on the nose. It felt to his lap and Jean blinked in disbelief. He heard laughing and the sound of shoes smacking on grass.

Marco reached him first. He held out his hand to Jean. “Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?”

Jean didn’t  _think_  he was hurt. All he felt was cold and wet. Then there was a trickle down his nose and something landed on his lip. He wiped his face and his hand came away with a streak of red.

“Your nose is bleeding,” Marco said anxiously. When Jean didn’t take his hand, he stepped into the river and took hold of him by his shoulders and lifted him up. His legs were shaky, but he assumed that was from the cold. Marco slowly walked him out of the river, holding him up and getting his own legs wet in the process.

Connie and Sasha stood on the bankside, panting. “Is he alright?”

“I’m fine,” Jean said, although his head was spinning a little.

“I think he just needs to sit down for a bit, he didn’t hit his head or anything. Have you got any tissues?”

“I do,” said Sasha.

A hand with a tissue in it was in front of his face. Jean took it and held it to his nose. Marco’s grip around his body tightened as he led them back to where they had been sitting before.

“I told you your aim was bad.”

“All right it’s bad! I’m sorry, Jean. I won’t do it so fast next time.”

“You think they’ll be a next time?”

“Hey, Jean. You alright?” Marco’s face was close to his, his voice quiet and caring.

Jean swallowed, ignoring the metallic tang of blood in at the back of his throat. “Yeah. Just a bit dizzy. Thanks for helping me up.”

“That’s all right.” Marco smiled. He put his hand on top of Jean’s, the one holding the tissue in place. “Let me do that.”

Jean didn’t particularly want to let go, he enjoyed the feeling of Marco’s hand wrapped around his. Then he remembered he could do that anyway. He let his hand slip from the bloody tissue and felt around for Marco’s other hand. When he found it, he held it tight.

“Guess I’ve kind of ruined the picnic, huh?” Jean feigned a laugh.

Marco dabbed the tissue at his nose. “Not at all. I think the bleeding’s stopped.” He pulled the tissue away, and low and behold, no more red droplets dripped from Jean’s nostrils.

Jean heard Connie heave a sigh of relief. It could’ve been Sasha though; he couldn’t see past Marco.

“How’s your head?” Marco asked. Jean considered it for a moment. The slow spin had faded to a dull ache on his nose exactly where the frisbee had whacked him.

“It’s fine. It’s just my nose that hurts a bit.”

Connie’s face poked into the side of his vision, his eyes wide with worry and regret. “I’m sorry Jean. Really, I am. I’ll make it up to you – I’ll – I’ll do something.”

“I hope it doesn’t involve a frisbee.” Jean made to stand up, leaning his weight on Marco even though he didn’t necessarily need to. When he reached his full height, he smirked at Connie.

Connie rolled his eyes. “I’ll aim for your mouth next time.”

“Wouldn’t get there even if you tried,” Sasha reminded him. She scarcely avoided an elbow to the rib but wasn’t lucky at escaping Connie’s glare.

“She has a point,” Marco admitted, sliding his arm into the crook of Jean’s elbow. Jean wouldn’t mind falling on his ass a few more times if it meant that Marco was as attentive as this.

Jean insisted that he was perfectly capable of packing up all the stuff from the hamper, but neither Connie, Sasha or Marco allowed him to help. He stood to the side as he watched them tuck the Tupperware and wrappers back into the hamper, cracking jokes and smiles along the way. Before today, he had been a little worried that Marco wouldn’t get along with Connie and Sasha. They were a little intense, well, a lot intense, actually. But looking at them now he realised he had had nothing to worry about. Marco fit in just fine with them, and he liked them too if his smiles and laughter were anything to go by.

After packing away the last of the items, Marco swung the hamper onto his shoulder. “Ready to go?”

Jean wasn’t, to the tell the truth. He didn’t want to leave the bubble of this safe (for the most part, if you took the frisbee out of the equation) and happy Sunday afternoon. He nodded anyway and took Marco’s hand as the four of them walked out of the park, the sun sinking below the trees behind them.

As it was Sunday and Monday loomed, Jean and Marco had to go their separate ways after Marco walked Jean to his apartment.

“You didn’t have to walk me here,” Jean said as Marco placed the hamper onto the table in Jean’s kitchen.

“I wanted to,” Marco replied simply. “Anyway, what if your nose started bleeding again? Who would wipe that up for you?” He smiled.

Jean laughed. “I’d be lost without you.” Jean was a little shocked at how true the words sounded coming out of his mouth. He’d meant them as a joke, some light banter after a momentarily worrying instant, but now, he truly didn’t know what he would with his days if he didn’t have Marco’s laughter and his dumb but still somehow cute emojis. They’d be a lot less bright, that was for sure.

Marco leaned against the table, his soft gaze fixed on Jean. He could tell he didn’t want to leave. Jean didn’t want him to, either, but he knew that he had to. Jean walked over to where Marco was standing, unable to handle the distance between them any longer. Wrapping his arms around Marco’s middle, he pulled him closer until he was able to rub his nose against Marco’s. He regretted it instantly when the dull ache on the bridge of his nose transformed into a strike of pain. Somehow, the sudden burst of agony was not enough to ruin the moment. Not quite.

Looking at Marco, there were only a few words that he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to say them yet.

Instead, he dragged his lips down to Marco’s and pressed their mouths together. One of Marco’s hands drifted up Jean’s back beneath his shirt, and the other coasted the back of Jean’s neck, sending shivers across his body.

“Been waiting to do that all day,” Marco murmured, their lips brushing with every syllable.

“You mean you didn’t want to start making out in front of my friends?” Jean grinned.

“Shut up,” Marco replied, then he kissed him again. It was a little harder for Jean to make snide comments with Marco’s tongue in his mouth, and he was pretty sure that was Marco’s plan all along.

It took another thirty minutes for Marco to get to the door, the two of them entangled in each other the entire way. And then another ten minutes for Jean to open said door, which was a little difficult with one free hand that he definitely did  _not_  want to be free.

Eventually, Marco pulled away. “I really have to go.” There was no conviction in his voice.

“Yeah,” said Jean, sighing and pressing yet another kiss to his cheek. He knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“You can come by tomorrow if you have time,” Marco suggested, “Or anytime, you don’t have to wait for an invite anymore. Just let me know.”

Jean nuzzled his face in Marco’s neck, for once glad of the few inches that Marco had on him. Not that he would ever admit that.  “I’ll do that.”

Marco kissed him on the mouth again, not lingering for as long as Jean wanted. “Get some sleep, okay?”

Marco squirmed himself out of Jean’s arms. The new space between them felt foreign, something that Jean definitely did not want to have to endure for too long. Jean watched him go and closed the door behind him. His apartment was quiet and cold without Marco’s presence, the change with him gone was instantaneous.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, somehow it had survived his little escapade in the river.

 **MARCO:**   _Miss you already :c_

 **JEAN:**   _Nerd. I miss you too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://sugakoush.tumblr.com) !!!!


	10. new routines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean accidentally falls asleep at Marco's, and Marco doesn't mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is like, ,, entirely domesticity because i am a sucker for domesticity

When Jean looked in the mirror the following morning, he was met with a purple, blue and slightly swollen nose. He groaned and took a picture and sent it to his chat with Connie and Sasha.

**JEAN:**   _Thanks for the new look._

**CONNIE:**   _JEAN I’M SO SORRY_

**SASHA:**   _it suits u_

**SASHA:** _i have some make up u can borrow to cover it up if u want tho_

**JEAN:**   _No thanks, I think I’ll let everyone know how much Connie’s aim sucks instead_

**CONNIE:** _fuck u jean_

Jean smiled and sent the picture to Marco too before slipping the phone back into his pocket.

**MARCO:** _Oh nooo!!!! Does it hurt a lot?!!??!_

**JEAN:**   _Only if I touch it, makes a great bargaining chip with Connie tho_

**MARCO:**   _I’m glad!!! Have a good day!!_

-

After a _lot_  of nosy co-workers asking exactly where Jean had managed to get that bruise (when the third person asked, he started making up a different, more ridiculous story each time) Jean left the building. Instead of heading down his usual path that he could walk with his eyes closed now, he headed towards the bus stop. He fumbled in his trouser pockets for some change; he knew it was there, he had triple-checked before leaving his apartment that morning, but it was reassuring to feel the cold metal against his skin as he approached the stop.

The bus arrived, and Jean was on his way to Marco’s. The journey was quiet without Marco’s pleasant chatter.

Twenty minutes later, the bus came to a halt at a place that Jean was slowly growing familiar with. He thanked the bus driver and got off the bus.

-

There was a knock at the door just as Marco was about to put a pan of pasta on the hob. The smile on his face was wide enough to make his ears twitch. He abandoned the pasta, only momentarily, and opened the door.

Behind the door was exactly the face he had been expecting, and looking forward to seeing all day. Jean, still in his work clothes, though they were a little dishevelled now, stood in the doorway with the sharp grin that was becoming more and more common place.

“Hey, Jean.” Marco opened the door wider and gestured for Jean to come in, which he did. Upon seeing Jean’s bruised and battered nose up close, Marco gasped. “How’s your nose now?” He narrowed his eyes at it, inspecting the damaged.

Jean waved him away. “Still a little bit sore, but it’s fine. How was your day?” he asked, then followed Marco back to the hob where the pasta was waiting to be boiled.

Marco gave Jean’s nose one last inspection before he moved the pasta onto the hob and turned up the heat. A hand slipped around his waist under his shirt, the sudden coldness sending tremors across his skin. “It was long. But the guitar exams are tomorrow, so after that I’ll be able to do some busking again. It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve done that.” He leaned back into Jean’s chest.

“Will I perchance get to see said busking?”

Marco laughed quietly. “Maybe.” It was _not_  a maybe and both Marco and Jean knew it.

“You should play a proper show, you know. Like, in a venue,” suggested Jean, the sincerity clear in his voice.

“And who would come?” Marco had considered it in the past but always decided against it.

“Hmm. Me, Etta” – he counted the names off on his fingers hovering in front of Marco’s chest – “Connie, Sasha, the kids you teach. You’ve probably got some fans that’ve seen you on the street as well.”

“I think that was just you.” Marco spun to look Jean. His eyes were full of a warmth that sent his insides into a commotion.

Jean smirked. “Then at least I don’t have any competition.”

Marco jabbed him in the ribs. “That’s not what _boyfriends_  are meant to say.” In his head, he was thinking, _they wouldn’t compare to you, anyway._

-

Etta emerged from her room when they ate dinner together, and disappeared soon after. It wasn’t unusual behaviour when tests were coming up.

Jean and Marco collapsed onto the sofa, their bellies full and their bodies edging towards sleepy. Marco switched on the TV, though neither of them paid any attention to it. Jean’s head was on Marco’s lap, Marco’s fingers massaging his scalp and twisting through his hair. Soon, he was fast asleep. His breathing was quiet. Marco leaned down to press individual kisses onto his fluttering eyelids and his bruised nose, hoping he was gentle enough not to hurt. It was growing late, but he didn’t have the heart to wake him. He knew he had to, though. It wasn’t like he could turn up to his job in yesterday’s clothes that he had slept in. Marco shook his shoulders gently.

“Jean,” he whispered directly into his ear. Jean made a sort of _mmmmmfffmfm_  noise, but his eyelids remained shut. Marco repeated his name louder.

“Huh? What?” Jean blinked himself awake and rubbed his eyes. Marco’s heart fluttered.

“You fell asleep,” said Marco, still quiet.

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry.” Jean sat up quickly, half-turned towards Marco. “What time is it?”

“Half 10. You can stay the night if you want. I need to go into the city tomorrow morning anyway. We can go together.”

Marco watched as Jean turned over the idea in his mind, his eyebrows becoming thoroughly more furrowed together as he did so.

“Yeah. I can do that. Do you think I can wash and dry this shirt by the morning?”

Marco put his arms around Jean’s middle and leaned his chin on his shoulder. “You can borrow one of my shirts, dumbass.” He pressed a kiss to his neck.

-

Marco fully understood the term morning rush at 6am the next day. His alarm went off and he was surprised to wake and find a pair of arms entangling his waist, confining him to the bed. Jean groaned into his shoulder blades, evidently having been woken from the alarm as well. Marco reached out to the bedside table and slammed his palm down on the off switch. He swivelled in Jean’s tight grip and was met by his still half-asleep face, drool trailing out of the side of his mouth.

“Good morning sleepyhead.”

Jean prised his eyes open to look at Marco. “How are you” – he yawned – “fully functioning” – a second yawn – “at this hour.”

Marco laughed. He had the fleeting thought that this was the earliest time in the day when he had ever laughed. “It’s a gift.”

“Mmmm. I want some.” Jean closed his eyes again and snuggled into the crevice between Marco’s neck and shoulder.

Marco leaned away reluctantly. “We have to get up.”

Jean pouted at him. Marco had the feeling that Jean was completely and unabashedly himself at this hour. Jean muttered a muffled, “Fine.”

Marco kissed Jean’s pout and slid out of the duvet, grabbing hold of Jean’s arms as he went, pulling him out too. “You’re like a teenager.” He laughed.

Jean scowled at him. “I am” – the third yawn in five minutes – “an _adult_.”

Marco rolled his eyes, his mouth caught in a laugh, and continued to drag Jean out to the kitchen.

The morning light spilled in through the kitchen windows, filling the apartment with a yellow glow.

“Coffee?” Marco asked, adjusting to the bright light just as much as Jean was.

“Is that even a question?” Jean replied. Marco was surprised for a second that he had gotten through such a long sentence without yawning, then Jean let out a tiny yawn that he must have been stifling.

“You’re the cutest in the morning.” Marco smiled at Jean as he reached into the cupboard for the jar of coffee.

Jean raised an eyebrow at him. “Am I not cute in the evening?”

“Yes, but you’re the cut _est_  now.”

Jean huffed. “Well, you’re the cutest all the time.”

“There, my point is proven. You would never say that if you were wide awake.”

Jean scowled for the second time. He didn’t argue, though.

Marco wanted nothing more than to slide his arms around Jean and pull him close, but he knew if he did, there was no chance of them getting out of the door in time, and he did not want to be the reason that Jean was late for work. What he didn’t count on was Jean wanting the same thing and throwing any care for the consequences straight out of the window.

“You’re going to have to let go of me to drink your coffee,” Marco reminded Jean as he poured boiling water into two mugs. Jean muttered a muffled reply into Marco’s shoulder and released one arm from around Marco’s waist.

“There,” he said as he took hold of the mug of coffee, “I can multitask.”

Making breakfast seemed like it would be an impossible task with Jean clinging to him every chance he got, but with a few more sips of coffee, Jean gradually grew more awake and less handsy. Marco would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little disappointed about it.

Between mouthfuls of toast, Jean asked, “What did you want to go into the city for? I forgot to ask last night.”

Marco chuckled. “You were very tired. And I need to get a replacement string for my guitar.”

“Oh? What’s wrong with what you’ve got now?” Jean swallowed the last of his toast.

“One snapped.” Marco shrugged. “It happens sometimes. I need to get some picks too, I keep losing them and my fingers end up looking a bit worse for wear.” He spread out his fingers to show Jean the damage. It wasn’t too bad, but there were clear indents in his skin where he had pressed down on the strings when playing; the edges around the injured tissue was red raw and swollen slightly.

Jean gripped onto Marco’s hand and brought it closer to get a better view. His lips parted. “I didn’t know it hurt.”

“It doesn’t hurt too much actually, it just stings a bit afterwards. And it feels weird. Like when you’ve been in the bath for too long and you get all wrinkly.”

Jean rubbed his perfectly smooth fingers over Marco’s calloused ones, replacing the familiar sting with a pleasant tingle. Marco took the chance to lace his fingers with Jean’s. Jean smiled at him and said: “Guess I like old man fingers.”

“Hey!” Marco pouted at him but kept their hands interlinked.

The shrill ringing of an alarm sounded from Etta’s room and seconds later she herself emerged in her dressing gown, her hair a mess. She wiped a sliver of drool off the side of her mouth.

“Good morning!” Marco beamed from the table.

“What’re you doing up?” It looked like it was taking all her will power to keep her eyes open. “Jean?”

“Jean stayed the night. I needed to go into the city this morning, so we thought we might as well go together.”

“Uh huh.” She trudged over to the fridge without another word.

“Somehow she’s still scary when she’s half asleep,” Jean whispered, looking at her through only the corners of his eyes.

Marco covered his mouth with his hand and bit back a laugh. “She’s not that bad,” He whispered back. Jean did not look convinced, Marco could only assume that Etta was throwing daggers at him with her eyes. He fought the urge to laugh again at the thought.

After Etta ate her breakfast, she retreated to her room and Jean visibly relaxed. Marco glanced at the clock and nearly choked on his last sip of coffee.

“We’d better hurry up.” He pushed himself back on the chair, stood up hurriedly and grabbed his and Jean’s breakfast plates before piling them up in the sink. He would have to wash them up later; they didn’t have the time now. He heard Jean mutter a quiet _fuck_  beneath his breath and then his chair scraped against the wooden floor.

They dressed as quickly as they could, Marco tossing Jean a clean and ironed shirt from his wardrobe as Jean had one leg into his trousers. The shirt landed on his head, covering his eyes.

“Sorry!” Marco laughed as Jean stumbled on one leg with the shirt shielding his view. As Jean grumbled a thanks and Marco continued to laugh, Marco himself tripped on his own trouser leg and ended up face planting the bed. He sighed as he sank into the soft mattress. Shifting his head slightly, he could just about see as Jean finally removed his shirt from his head. He let his eyes glide over Jean’s shirtless body, not that he hadn’t already done it numerous times before. His muscles were toned only slightly, and he had the minor hint of a tan, though his complexion was still a million shades lighter than Marco’s.

Much too quickly, Jean slid his arms into Marco’s shirt and buttoned it up. It was an entirely different sight to see Jean in his clothes, one that he hadn’t properly prepared himself for. They had a similar build, but Jean seemed to fill out the cream shirt much better than Marco ever did. Marco wondered if that was his gay bias talking. It probably was.

“It suits you,” Marco said, still laying with his belly flat on the bed. He suddenly realised how _obviously_  he had been ogling Jean and scrambled to stand up again.

A flush of pink spread across Jean’s cheeks. Marco wanted to kiss the rising heat, but the damn bed was directly in between them. “Thanks.”

Marco straightened and finally finished fastening his own trousers, then looked through his drawers for a decent t-shirt. He picked out a plain green one; they didn’t have the time for him to mess around. “Are you ready to go?”

Jean nodded. He was staring into the mirror and dragging his hands through his hair. It still looked much like bedhead, and as adorable as Marco found that, he could tell that Jean was not thinking the same.

“You look fine,” Marco said, coming up behind Jean.

“Hmph.”

“You do,” Marco reassured him.

Jean’s hands fell from his hair and he tore his gaze from the mirror to look at Marco instead. He placed a quick kiss on Marco’s mouth. “Let’s go.”

-

They held hands on the way to the bus stop, on the bus, all the way up until they reached Jean’s building. Marco loved to hold Jean’s hand, to feel his warmth right there next to him, the sensation of Jean’s thumb caressing his and he hated to let go.

“Text me. Or I’ll text you. Whichever.” Jean kissed him one more time before going into the building, leaving Marco stood metres away from where they had first met.

It felt almost like something of a routine, and Marco wanted to get stuck in it. Even if it meant waking up at the crack of dawn.


End file.
